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EDWARD P. ROE 

AUTHOR OF “ BARRIERS BURNED AWAY,” “ A YOUNG GIRL’S WOOING,” 
“NEAR TO NATURE’S HEART,” “THE OPENING OF 
A CHESTNUT BURR,” ETC. 






ILLUSTRATED BY 

W. HAMILTON GIBSON AND F. DIELMAN 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD, AND COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


I 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, by 
HARPER & BROTHERS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


All rights reserved. 


STfjt 0 IScok 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 

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PREFACE. 


“ T AM getting very tired,” said a hard brain-worker to me 

± once. “Life is beginning to drag and lose its zest.” 
This is an experience that can scarcely happen to one who has 
fallen in love with Nature, or become deeply interested in any 
of her almost infinite manifestations. Mr. and Mrs. Clifford of 
my story are not wholly the creations of fancy. The aged man 
sketched in the following pages was as truly interested in his 
garden and fruit-trees after he had passed his fourscore years as 
any enthusiastic horticulturist in his prime, and the invalid, 
whose memory dwells in my heart, found a solace in flowers 
which no words of mine have exaggerated. If this book tends 
to bring others into sympathy with Nature, one of its chief 
missions will be fulfilled. 

A love for the soil and all the pursuits of out-door life is one 
of the most healthful signs in a people. Our broad and diver- 
sified land affords abundant opportunity for the gratification of 
every rural taste, and those who form such tastes will never 
complain that life is losing its zest. Other pleasures pall with 


VI 


PREFACE. 


time and are satiated. We outgrow them. But every spring is a 
new revelation, every summer a fresh, original chapter of ex- 
perience, and every autumn a fruition of hopes as well as of 
seeds and buds. Nothing can conduce more to happiness and 
prosperity than multitudes of rural homes. In such abodes 
you will not find Socialists, Nihilists, and other hare-brained 
reformers who seek to improve the world by ignoring nature 
and common-sense. Possession of the soil makes a man 
conservative, while he, at the same time, is conserved. 

The culture of the land is no longer plodding, ox-like drudg- 
ery, nor is the farm a place of humdrum, brainless routine. 
Science offers her aid on every hand, and beauty, in numberless 
forms, is ever present to those who have eyes and hearts capa- 
ble of recognizing it. The farmer has a literature of his own, 
which every year is growing in proportions and value. He also 
has time for the best literature of the world. It is his own 
fault if he remains akin to the clod he turns. Is it not more 
manly to co-work with Nature for a livelihood than to eke out 
a pallid, pitiful existence behind a counter, usurping some 
woman’s place? 

Nature is a good mother, after all, in our latitude. She does 
not coddle and over-indulge her children, but rewards their 
love abundantly, invigorates them if they dwell in her presence, 
and develops mind and muscle, heart and soul, if they obey 
her laws and seek to know her well. Although infinitely rich, 
she has not the short-sighted folly of those parents who seek 
to place everything in the hand of a child without cost. On 
the contrary she says, “ See what you may win, what you may 
attain.” Every crop is a prize to knowledge, skill, industry. 
Every flower is a beautiful mystery which may be solved in 


PREFACE. 


vil 

partj every tree is stored sunshine for the hearth, shelter from 
the storm, a thing of beauty while it lives, and of varied use 
when its life is taken. In animals, birds, insects, and vegeta- 
tion we are surrounded by diversified life, and our life grows 
richer, more healthful and complete, as we enter into their life 
and comprehend it. The clouds above us are not mere reser- 
voirs of water for prosaic use. In their light, shade, and ex- 
quisite coloring they are ever a reproach to the • blindness of 
coarse and earthy minds. 

The love of Nature is something that may be developed in 
every heart, and it is a love that rarely fails to purify and exalt. 
To many she is a cold, indifferent beauty. They see, but do 
not know and appreciate her, and she passes on her way as if 
they were nothing to her. But when wooed patiently and lov- 
ingly, she stops to smile, caress, and entertain with exhaustless 
diversion. 

In this simple home story I have talked, perhaps, like a gar- 
rulous lover who must speak of his mistress, even though his 
words weary others. I console myself, however, with the 
thought that my text has proved the prosaic root and stem 
which have given being to the exquisite flowers of art that 
adorn these pages. In Mr. Gibson and Mr. Dielman I have 
'had ideal associates in the work. They have poured light on a 
landscape that would otherwise be dull and gray.. 

My characters may seem shadows to others, but they have 
become real, or were real, to me. I meet them still in walks 
and drives where in fancy I had placed them before. I would 
not have to go very far to find types of the children introduced, 
but the lovers, and the majority of the others, began as shad- 
ows in the background of imagination, and took form and sub- 


Vlll 


PREFACE . 


stance with time. Dr. Marvin, however, is a reality and a most 
valued friend, who has assisted me greatly in my work. Any 
one who has the good-fortune to meet Dr. E. A. Mearns, sur- 
geon in the regular army, can scarcely fail to recognize in him 
the genial sportsman for whom the birds were “ always in sea- 
son.” There are others to whom I am indebted, like John 
Burroughs, Thoreau, Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway, true lovers 
and interpreters of Nature. Those living stand near her 
queenly presence ; those who have passed on are doubtless 
nearer still. 



CHAPTER ' PAGE 

i. A Country Home i 

ii. Amy Winfield io 

in. A Country Fireside 20 

iv. Gunning by Moonlight 27 

v. Christmas Eve and Morning 33 

vi. Nature’s Half-known Secrets 38 

vii. Neighbors Drop in 44 

viii. Eagles 52 

ix. Sleighing in the Highlands 58 

x. A Winter Thunder-storm 65 

xi. Nature under Glass 71 

xii. A Mountaineer’s Hovel 76 

xiii. Almost a Tragedy 83 

xiv. Hints of Spring 99 

xv. Nature’s Building Materials 107 

xvi. Gossip about Bird Neighbors 114 

xvii. Fishing through the Ice 135 

xviii. Planning and Opening the Campaign . . . .141 

xix. Winter’s Exit 153 

xx. A Royal Captive 159 

ix 


X 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

xxi. Spring’s Harbingers 163 

xxii. First Times 167 

xxiii. Regrets and Duck-shooting 181 

xxiv. April 188 

xxv. Easter 193 

xxvi. Very Moody 201 

xxvii. Shad-fishing by Proxy 210 

xxviii. May and Girlhood 218 

xxix. Nature’s Workshop 228 

xxx. Spring-time Passion 233 

xxxi. June and Honey-bees 239 

xxxii. Burt becomes Rational 250 

xxxm. Webb’s Roses and Romance 257 

xxxiv. A Sham Battle at West Point '7 268 

xxxv. Chased by a Thunder-shower 272 

xxxvi. The Rescue of a Home 276 

xxxvii. A Midnight Tempest 284 

xxxviii. The Two Lovers 294 

xxxix. Burt’s Adventure 299 

xl. Miss Hargrove 309 

xli. A Fire in the Mountains 314 

xlii. Camping Out 326 

XLiii. An Old Tenement 338 

xliv. “But he Risked his Life?” 348 

xlv. Summer’s Weeping Farewell 355 

xlvi. Father and Daughter 363 

xlvii. Disquiet Within and Without 369 

xlviii. Idlewild 375 

xlix. Echoes of a Past Storm 379 

l. Impulses of the Heart 385 

li. Webb’s Fateful Expedition . 394 

lii. Burt’s Sore Dilemma 414 


CONTENTS. xi 

CHAPTER PAGE 

liii. Burt’s Resolve 422 

liv. A Gentle Exorcist 427 

lv. Burt Tells his Love again 432 

lvi. Webb’s Four-leaved Clover 445 

Lvii. October Hues and Harvests 453 

Lvm. The Moonlight Omen 460 

lvix. The Rose reveals its Heart 468 

lx. Christmas Lights and Shadows 476 


































































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PAGE 

Under the Mistletoe Facing title-page . 

“ Contents ” ix 

“Illustrations” . . . xiii 

Barnyard 3 

“ Mother’s Room ” Facing page 6 

A Winter Meadow 25 

Hunting by Moonlight 3 1 

A White Landscape 56 

A Winter Thunder-storm 68 

Spring Heralds 101 

The Rabbit Trap 10 5 

xiii 




xiv 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

" She stole noiselessly down the Stairway ” 

Facing page 152 

The Swamp Cabbage Flower ... 15 7 

An Upland Meadow 197 

Shad-fishing on the Hudson 214 

Blossom-time 231 

Watching the Swarm Facing page 246 

Clouding Up 293 

He never forgot the Picture she made under the 

Rustic Archway 303 

A Pastoral 317 

An Upland Ledge 324 

Disreputable Tenants 341 

Caught Napping 345 

The Woodpecker at Home 346 

Stormy Weather . 359 

In the Gloaming . . 361 

A Stormy Day 373 

The Swollen Stream 377 

Harvesting 387 

The Orchard Harvest 419 

“ Indeed, Burt, I do care for you ” . . Facing page 428 

The Cider-mill 455 

An October Outing 457 

“ Woo Whoo ! ” 465 

Winter Twilight 477 


NATURE’S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER I. 

A COUNTRY HOME. 

H OW much it means — what possibilities it suggests ! The 
one I shall describe was built not far from half a century 
ago, and the lapsing years have only make it more homelike. 
It has long ceased to be a new object — an innovation — and 
has become a part of the landscape, like the trees that have 
grown up around it. Originally painted brown, with the flight 
of time it has taken a grayish tinge, as if in sympathy with its 
venerable proprietor. It stands back from the roadway, and in 
summer has an air of modest seclusion. Elms, maples, and 
shrubbery give to the passer-by but chance glimpses of the 
wide veranda, which is indicated, rather than revealed, beyond 
the thickly clustering vines. 

It is now late December, and in contrast with its leafy retire- 
ment the old homestead stands out with a sharp distinctness in 
the white landscape ; and yet its sober hue harmonizes with the 
dark boles of the trees, and suggests that, like them, it is a 
natural growth of the soil, and quite as capable of clothing 
itself with foliage in the coming spring. This in a sense will be 
true when the greenery and blossoms of the wistaria, honey- 
suckle, and grape-vines appear, for their fibres and tendrils have 


2 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


clung to the old house so long that they may well be deemed 
an inseparable part of it. Even now it seems that the warmth, 
light, and comfort within are the sustaining influences which 
will carry them through the coming days of frost and storm. 
A tall pine-tree towers above the northern gable of the dwelling, 
and it is ever sighing and moaning to itself, as if it possessed 
some unhappy family secret which it can neither reveal nor 
forget. On the hither side of its shade a carriage -drive curves 
towards an ancient horse-block, with many a lichen growing on 
the under side of the weather-beaten planks and supports. 
From this platform, where guests have been alighting for a gen- 
eration or more, the drive passes to an old-fashioned carriage- 
house, in which are the great family sleigh and a light and gayly 
painted cutter, revealing that the home is not devoid of the 
young life to which winter’s most exhilarating pastime is so 
dear. A quaint corn-crib is near, its mossy posts capped with 
inverted tin pans much corroded by rust. These prevent prowl- 
ing rats and mice from climbing up among the golden treasures. 
Still farther beyond are the gray old barn and stables, facing the 
south. Near their doors on the sunny side of the ample yard 
stand half a dozen ruminating cows, with possibly, between 
their wide-branching horns, a dim consciousness of the fields, 
now so white and cold, from which were cropped, in the long- 
past summer, far juicier morsels than now fall to their lot. 
Even into their sheltered nook the sun, far down in the south, 
throws but cold and watery gleams from a steel-colored sky, 
and as the northern blast eddies around the sheltering build- 
ings the poor creatures shiver, and when their morning airing is 
over are glad to return to their warm, stra^-littered stalls. Even 
the gallant and champion cock of the yard is chilled. With one 
foot drawn up into his fluffy feathers he stands motionless in the 
midst of his disconsolate harem with his eye fixed vacantly on 
the forbidding outlook. His dames appear neither to miss nor 
to invite his attentions, and their eyes, usually so bright and 
alert, often film in weary discontent. Nature, however, is ob- 


A COUNTRY HOME . 



3 

livious to all the dumb protests of the barn-yard, and the cold 
steadily strengthens. 

Away on every side stretch the angular fields, outlined by 
fences that are often but white, continuous mounds, and also 
marked by trees and shrubs that, in their earlier life, ran the 
gantlet of the bush-hook. Here and there the stones of the 
higher and more abrupt walls crop out, while the board and 
rail fences appear strangely dwarfed by the snow that has fallen 


BARNYARD. 

and drifted around them. The groves and wood-crowned hills 
still farther away look as drearily uninviting as roofless dwellings 
with icy hearth-stones and smokeless chimneys. Towering 
above all, on the right, is Storm King mountain, its granite 
rocks and precipices showing darkly here and there, as if its 
huge white mantle were old and ragged indeed. One might 
well shiver at the lonely, desolate wastes lying beyond it, grim 
hills and early-shadowed valleys, where the half-starved fox 
prowls, and watches for unwary rabbits venturing from their 


4 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


coverts to nibble the frozen twigs. The river, which above the 
Highlands broadens out into Newburgh Bay, has become a 
snowy plain, devoid, on this bitter day, of every sign of life. 
The Beacon hills, on the farther side, frown forbiddingly through 
the intervening northern gale, sweeping southward into the 
mountain gorge. 

On a day like this the most ardent lover of Nature could 
scarcely fail to shrink from her cold, pallid face and colder 
breath. Our return to the home, whose ruddy firelight is seen 
through the frosted window-panes, will be all the more welcome 
because we have been shivering so long without. The grace of 
hospitality has been a characteristic of the master of the house 
for over half a century, and therefore the reader need not fear 
to enter, especially at this Christmas-time, when the world, as 
if to make amends for the churlish welcome it gave to its 
Divine Guest, for whom no better place was found than a stable, 
now throws open the door and heart in kindly feeling and un- 
selfish impulses. 

We propose to make a long visit at this old-fashioned home- 
stead. We shall become the close friends of its inmates, and 
share in their family life ; they will introduce us to some of 
their neighbors, and take us on many breezy drives and pleas- 
ant excursions, with which it is their custom to relieve their 
busy life; we shall take part in their rural labors, and learn, 
from them the secret of obtaining from nature that which nour- 
ishes both soul and body ; they will admit us to their confi- 
dence, and give us glimpses of that mystery of mysteries, the 
human heart; and we shall learn how the ceaseless story of 
life, with its hopes and fears, its w joys and sorrows, repeats itself 
in the quiet seclusion of a country home as truly as in the tur- 
moil of the city. Nor would our visit be complete did we not 
witness among the ripened fruits of conjugal affection the bud 
and blossom of that immortal flower which first opened in 
Eden, and which ever springs unbidden from the heart when 
the conditions that give it life and sustenance are present. 


A COUNTRY HOME. 


5 


The hallway of this central scene of our story is wide, and 
extends to a small piazza in the rear. The front half of this 
family thoroughfare, partitioned off by sliding-doors, can thus 
be made into a roomy apartment. Its breezy coolness, causes 
it to be a favorite resort on sultry days, but now it is forsaken, 
except that a great heater, with its ample rotundity and glow- 
ing heart, suggests to the visitor that it stands there as a repre- 
sentative of the host until he shall appear. Some portraits, a 
fine old engraving, a map of the county, and some sprays of 
evergreen intermingled with red berries, take away all bareness 
from the walls, while in a corner near the door stands a rack, 
formed in part by the branching antlers of a stag, on which 
hang fur caps and collars, warm wraps and coats, all suggesting 
abundant means of robbing winter of its rigor. On hooks 
above the sliding-doors are suspended a modern rifle and a 
double-barrelled shot-gun, and above these is a firelock musket 
that did good service in the Revolution. 

The doors opening into the rear hall were pushed back, re- 
vealing a broad stairway, leading with an abrupt turn and a 
landing to the upper chambers. A cheerful apartment on the 
left of this hall was the abode of an invalid, whose life for many 
years disease had vainly sought to darken. There were lines 
of suffering on her thin, white face, and her hair, once black, 
was silvered ; but it would seem that, in the dark, lustrous eyes 
of the patient woman, courage and hope had been kindled, 
rather than quenched, by pain. She was now reclining on a 
sofa, which had been wheeled near to a wood-fire glowing on 
the hearth of a large Franklin stove ; and her dreamy, absent 
expression often gave place td one of passing interest as her 
husband, sitting opposite, read from his paper an item of news 
— some echo from the busy, troubled world, that seemed so 
remote from their seclusion and peaceful age. The venerable 
man appeared, however, as if he might still do his share in 
keeping the world busy, and also in banishing its evils. Al- 
though time had whitened his locks, it had touched kindly his 


6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


stalwart frame, while his square jaw and strong features indicated 
a character that had met life’s vicissitudes as a man should 
meet them. His native strength and force, however, were like 
the beautiful region in which he dwelt — once wild and rugged 
indeed, but now softened and humanized by generations of 
culture. Even his spectacles could not obscure the friendly 
and benevolent expression of his large blue eyes. It was evi- 
dent that he looked at the world, as mirrored before him in the 
daily journal, with neither cynicism nor mere curiosity, but 
with a heart in sympathy with all the influences that were 
making it better. 

The sound of a bell caused the old man to rise and assist 
his wife to her feet ; then, with an affectionate manner, tinged 
with a fine courtesy of the old school, he supported her to the 
dining-room, placed her in a cushioned chair on his right, at 
the head of the table, and drew a footstool to her feet. There 
was a gentleness and solicitude in his bearing which indicated 
that her weakness was more potent than strength would have 
been in maintaining her ascendency. 

Meanwhile the rest of the family flocked in with an alacrity 
which proved either that the bitter cold had sharpened their 
appetites, or that the old-fashioned one-o’clock dinner was a 
cheerful break in the monotony of the day. There was a mid- 
dle-aged man, who was evidently the strong stay and staff on 
which the old people leaned. His wife was the housekeeper 
of the family, and she was emphatically the “ house-mother,” 
as the Germans phrase it. Every line of her good, but rather 
care-worn, face bespoke an anxious solicitude about everybody 
and everything except herself. It was apparent that she had 
inherited not a little of the “ Martha ” spirit, and “ was careful 
about many things ; ” but her slight tendency to worry saved 
others a world of worriment, for she was the household provi- 
dence, and her numberless little anxieties led to so much pre- 
vention of evil that there was not much left to cure. Such 
was her uptirmg attention that her thoughtless, growing children 


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A COUNTRY HOME. 


7 


seemed cared for by the silent forces of nature. Their clothes 
came to them like the leaves on the trees, and her deft fingers 
added little ornaments that cost the wearers no more thought 
than did the blossoms of spring to the unconscious plants of 
the garden. She was as essential to her husband as the oxygen 
in the air, and he knew it, although demonstrating his knowl- 
edge rather quietly, perhaps. But she understood him, and en- 
joyed a little secret exultation over the strong man’s almost 
ludicrous helplessness and desolation when her occasional ab- 
sences suspended for a brief time their conjugal partnership. 
She surrounded the old people with a perpetual Indian-summer 
haze of kindliness, which banished all hard, bleak outlines from 
their late autumnal life. In brief, she was what God and nature 
designed woman to be — the gracious, pervading spirit, that 
filled the roomy house with comfort and rest. Sitting near 
were her eldest son and pride, a lad about thirteen years of age, 
and a girl who, when a baby, had looked so like a boy that her 
father had called her “ Johnnie,.” a sobriquet which still clung 
to her. Close to the mother’s side was a little embodiment of 
vitality, mischief, and frolic, in the form of a four-year-old boy, 
the dear torment of the whole house. 

There remain but two others to be mentioned, and the 
Clifford family will be complete, as constituted at present. 
Thirst was the youngest son of the aged man' at the head of 
the table. He had inherited his father’s features, but there 
was a dash of recklessness blended with the manifest frankness 
of his expression, and in his blue eyes there was little trace of 
shrewd calculation or forethought. Even during the quiet 
midday meal they flashed with an irrepressible mirthfulness, 
and not one at the table escaped his aggressive nonsense. His 
brother, two or three years his senior, was of a very different 
type, and seemed somewhat overshadowed by the other’s bril- 
liancy. He had his mother’s dark eyes, but they were deep 
and grave, and he appeared reserved and silent, even in the 
home circle. His bronzed features were almost rugged in their 


8 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


strength, but a heavy mustache gave a touch of something like 
manly beauty to his rather sombre face. You felt instinctively 
that he was one who would take life seriously — perhaps a little 
too seriously — and that, whether it brought him joy or sorrow, 
he would admit the world but charily to his confidence. 

Burtis, the youngest brother, had gone through college after 
a sort of neck-or-nothing fashion, and had been destined for 
one of the learned professions; but, while his natural ability 
had enabled him to run the gantlet of examinations, he had 
evinced such an unconquerable dislike for restraint and plodding 
study that he had been welcomed back to the paternal acres, 
which were broad enough for them all. Mr. Clifford, by vari- 
ous means, had acquired considerable property in his day, and 
was not at all disappointed that his sons should prefer the pri- 
mal calling to any other, since it was within his power to estab- 
lish them well when they were ready for a separate domestic 
life. It must be admitted, however, that thus far the rural 
tastes of Burtis were chiefly for free out-of-door life, with its 
accessories of rod, gun, and horses. But Leonard, the eldest, 
and Webb, the second in years, were true children of the soil, 
in the better sense of the term. Their country home had been 
so replete with interest from earliest memory that they had 
taken root there like the trees which their father had planted. 
Leonard was a practical farmer, content, in a measure, to follow 
the traditions of the elders. Webb, on the other hand, was 
disposed to look past the outward aspects of Nature to her 
hidden moods and motives, and to take all possible advantage 
of his discoveries. The farm was to him a laboratory, and, 
with something of the spirit of the old alchemists, he read, 
studied, and brooded over the problem of producing the lar- 
gest results at the least cost. He was by no means deficient in 
imagination, or even in appreciation of the beautiful side of 
nature, when his thoughts were directed to this phase of the 
outer world ; but his imagination had become materialistic, and 
led only to an eager quest after the obscure laws of cause and 


A COUNTRY HOME . 


9 


effect, which might enable him to accomplish what to his plod- 
ding neighbors would seem almost miraculous. He understood 
that the forces with which he was dealing were well-nigh infi- 
nite ; and it was his delight to study them, to combine them, 
and make them his servants. It was his theory that the energy 
in nature was like a vast motive power, over which man could 
throw the belt of his skill and knowledge, and so produce re- 
sults commensurate with the force of which he availed himself. 
There was, therefore, an unfailing zest in his work, and the ma- 
jority of his labors had the character of experiments, which, 
nevertheless, were so guided by experience that they were 
rarely futile or unremunerative. On themes that accorded with 
his tastes and pursuits he would often talk earnestly and well, 
but his silence and pre-occupation at other times proved that 
it is not best to be dominated by one idea, even though it be a 
large one. 



10 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


CHAPTER II. 


AMY WINFIELD. 


HE reader may now consider himself introduced to the 



household with whom he is invited to sojourn. In time 


he will grow better acquainted with the different members of 
the family, as they in their several ways develop their own indi- 
viduality. A remark from old Mr. Clifford indicates that an- 
other guest is expected, who, unlike ourselves, will be present 
in reality, not fancy, and who is destined to become a perma- 
nent inmate of the home. 

“ This is a bitter day,” he said, “ for little Amy to come to 
us ; and yet, unless something unforeseen prevents, she will be 
at the station this evening.” 

“ Don’t worry about the child,” Burtis responded, promptly ; 
“ I’ll meet her, and am glad of an excuse to go out this horrid 
day. I’ll wrap her up in furs like an Esquimau.” 

“ Yes, and upset her in the drifts with your reckless driving,” 
said good-natured Leonard. “ Thunder is wild enough at any 
time ; but of late, between the cold, high feeding, and idleness, 
he’ll have to be broken over again : lucky if he don’t break 
your neck in the operation. The little girl will feel strange 
enough, anyway, coming among people that she has never seen, 
and I don’t intend that she shall be frightened out of her wits 
into the bargain by your harum-scarum ways. You’d give her 
the impression that we were only half-civilized. So I’ll drive 
over for her in the family sleigh, and take Alf with me. He 
will be nearer her own age, and help to break the ice. If you 


AMY WINFIELD. 


II 


want a lark, go out by yourself, and drive where you please, 
after your own break-neck style.” 

“ Leonard is right,” resumed Mr. Clifford, emphatically. 
“ The ward committed to me by my dear old friend should be 
brought to her home with every mark of respect and affection 
by the one who has the best right to represent me. I’d go 
myself, were not the cold so severe ; but then Leonard’s ways 
are almost as fatherly as my own; and when his good wife 
there gets hold of the child she’ll soon be fused into the family, 
in spite of the zero weather. She’ll find all the cold without 
the door.” 

“ I yield,” said Burtis, with a careless laugh. “ Len shall 
bring home the little chick, and put her under his wife’s wing. 
I should probably misrepresent the family, and make a bad first 
impression ; and as for Webb, you might as well send the under- 
taker for her.” 

“ I don’t think she will feel strange among us very long,” said 
Leonard’s wife. “ She shall hang up her stocking to-night, like 
the other children, and I have some nice little knick-knacks 
with which to fill it. These, and the gifts which the rest of you 
have provided, will delight her, as they do all little people, and 
make her feel at once that she is part of the family.” 

“ Maggie expresses my purpose fully,” concluded Mr. Clifford. 
“ As far as it is within our power, we should make her one of 
the family. In view of my friend’s letters, this is the position 
that I desire her to sustain, and it will be the simplest and most 
natural relation for us all. Your mother and I will receive her 
as a daughter, and it is my wish that my sons should treat her 
as a sister from the first.” 

Amy Winfield, the subject of the above remarks, was the only 
daughter of a gentleman who had once been Mr. Clifford’s most 
intimate friend, and also his partner in many business transac- 
tions. Mr. Winfield had long resided abroad, and there had lost 
the wife whom he had married rather late in life. When feeling 
his own end drawing near, his thoughts turned wistfully to the 


12 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


friend of his early manhood, and, as he recalled Mr. Clifford’s 
rural home, he felt that he could desire no better refuge for his 
child. He had always written of her as his “little girl,” and 
such she was in his fond eyes, although in fact she had seen 
eighteen summers. Her slight figure and girlish ways had never 
dispelled the illusion that she was still a child, and as such he 
had commended her to his friend, who had responded to the 
appeal as to a sacred claim, and had already decided to give 
her a daughter’s place in his warm heart. Mr. Winfield could 
not have chosen a better guardian for the orphan and her prop- 
erty, and a knowledge of this truth had soothed the last hours 
of the dying man. 

It struck Leonard that the muffled figure he picked up at the 
station and carried through the dusk and snow to the sleigh was 
rather tall and heavy for the child he was expecting ; but he 
wrapped her warmly, almost beyond the possibility of speaking, 
or even breathing, and spoke the hearty and encouraging words 
which are naturally addressed to a little girl. After seeing that 
her trunks were safely bestowed in a large box-sledge, under the 
charge of black Abram, one of the farm-hands, he drove rapidly 
homeward, admonishing Alfred, on the way, “to be sociable.” 
The boy, however, had burrowed so deep under the robes as 
to be invisible and oblivious. When Leonard was about to lift 
her out of the sleigh, as he had placed her in it, the young girl 
protested, and said, 

“ I fear I shall disappoint you all by being larger and older 
than you expect.” 

A moment later he was surprised to find that the “ child ” 
was as tall as his wife, who, with abounding motherly kindness, 
had received the girl into open arms. Scarcely less demonstra- 
tive and affectionate was the greeting of old Mr. Clifford, and 
the orphan felt, almost from the first, that she had found a 
second father. 

“Why, Maggie,” whispered Leonard, “the child is as tall as 
you are ! ” 


AMY WINFIELD. 


13 


“ There’s only the more to welcome, then,” was the genial 
answer, and, turning to the young girl, she continued, “ Come 
with me, my dear ; I’m not going to have you frightened and 
bewildered with all your new relations before you can take 
breath. You shall unwrap in your own room, and feel from the 
start that you have a nook where no one can molest you or make 
you afraid, to which you can always retreat ; ” and she led the 
way to a snug apartment, where an air-tight stove created sum- 
mer warmth. There was a caressing touch in Mrs. Leonard’s 
assistance which the young girl felt in her very soul, for tears 
came into her eyes as with a deep sigh of relief she sat down 
on a low chair. 

“ I feared I should be a stranger among strangers,” she mur- 
mured ; “ but I already feel as if I were at home.” 

“You are, Amy,” was the prompt reply, spoken with that 
. quiet emphasis which banishes all trace of doubt. “ You are 
at home as truly as I am. There is nothing half-way in this 
house. Do you know we all thought that you were a child? 
I now foresee that we shall be companions, and very compan- 
ionable, too, I am sure.” 

There was a world of grateful good-will in the dark hazel eyes 
which Amy lifted to the motherly face bending over her. 

“ And now come,” pursued Mrs. Leonard ; “ mother Clifford, 
the boys, and the children are all eager to see you. You won’t 
find much ice to break, and before the evening is over you will 
feel that you belong to us and we to you. Don’t be afraid.” 

“ I am not afraid any more. I was, though, on my way here. 
Everything looked so cold and dismal from the car windows, 
and the gentleman in whose care I was had little to say, though 
kind and attentive enough. I was left to my own thoughts, and 
gave way to a foolish depression ; but when your husband 
picked me up in his strong arms, and reassured me as if I were 
a little girl, my feeling of desolation began to pass away. Your 
greeting and dear old Mr. Clifford’s have banished it altogether. 
I felt as if my own father were blessing me in the friend who is 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


14 

now my guardian, and of whom I have heard so often ; and, 
after my long winter journey among strangers, you’ve no idea 
what a refuge this warm room has already become. Oh, I know 
I shall be happy. I only wish that dear papa knew how weii 
he has provided for me.” 

“ He knows, my dear. But come, or that incorrigible Burt 
will be bursting upon us in his impatience, and the little mother 
must not be kept waiting, either. You will soon learn to love 
her dearly. Weak and gentle as she is, she rules us all.” 

“ Mother’s room” was, in truth, the favorite haunt of the 
house, and only her need of quiet kept it from being full much 
of the time. There was nothing bleak or repelling in the age 
it sheltered, and children and grandchildren gathered about 
the old people almost as instinctively as around their genial 
open fire. This momentous Christmas-eve found them all 
there, a committee of reception awaiting the new inmate of 
their home. There was an eager desire to know what Amy was 
like, but it was a curiosity wholly devoid of the spirit of criti- 
cism. The circumstances under which the orphan came to 
them would banish any such tendency in people less kindly 
than the Cliffords ; but their home-life meant so much to them 
all that they were naturally solicitous concerning one who 
must, from the intimate relations she would sustain, take from 
or add much to it. Therefore it was with a flutter of no ordi- 
nary expectancy that they waited for her appearance. The only 
one indifferent was Leonard’s youngest f boy, who, astride his 
grandpa’s cane, was trotting quietly about, unrestricted in his 
gambols. Alfred had thawed out since his return from the 
station, and was eager ’to take the measure of a possible play- 
mate ; but, with the shyness of a boy who is to meet *a “ strange 
girl,” he sought a partial cover behind his grandfather’s chair. 
Little “Johnnie” was flitting about impatiently, with her least 
mutilated doll upon her arm ; while her uncle Burtis, seated on 
a low stool by his mother’s sofa, pretended to be exceedingly 
jealous, and was deprecating the fact that he would now be no 


AMY WINFIELD. 


15 


longer petted as her baby, since the child of her adoption must 
assuredly take his place. Webb, who, as usual, was somewhat 
dpart from the family group, kept up a poor pretence of read- 
ing; and genial Leonard stood with his back to the fire, his 
hands clasped behind him, beaming upon all, and waiting to 
shine on the new-comer. Only Mr. Clifford seemed uninflu- 
enced by the warm, bright present. He gazed fixedly into the 
flickering blaze, and occasionally took off his spectacles to wipe 
away the moisture that gathered in his eyes. His thoughts, 
evidently, were busy with years long past, and were following 
that old, tried friend who had committed to his hands so sacred 
a trust. 

The door opened, and Mrs. Leonard led Amy forward. The 
latter hesitated a moment, bewildered by the number of eyes 
turned towards her, and the new relations into which she was 
entering. She proved that she was not a child by her quick, 
blushing consciousness of the presence of two young men, who 
were as yet utter strangers ; and they, in turn, involuntarily gave 
to the slender, brown-haired girl quite a different welcome from 
the one they had expected to bestow upon a child. Old Mr. 
Clifford did not permit her embarrassment to last a moment, 
but, stepping hastily forward, and encircling her with his arm, 
he led her to his wife, who brought tears into the eyes of the 
motherless girl by the gentle warmth of her greeting. She 
monopolized her ward so dong that impatient Burtis began to 
expostulate, and ask when his turn was coming. The young 
girl turned a shy, blushing face towards him, and her cheeks, 
mantling under the full rays of 0 the lamp, rendered the ex- 
quisite purity of her complexion all the more apparent. He 
also began to feel that he was flushing absurdly, but he carried 
it off with his usual audacity. 

“ I am much embarrassed and perplexed,” he said. “ I was 
led to expect a little sister that I could romp with, and pick up 
and kiss ; but here is a young lady that almost paralyzes me 
with awe,” 


1 6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ I’d like to see you paralyzed from any such cause just 
once,” Leonard remarked, laughingly. “ Go kiss your sister, 
like a little man.” 

The young fellow seemed to relish the ceremony exceedingly, 
and responsive mirthfulness gleamed for a moment in Amy’s 
eyes. Then he dragged Webb forward, saying, “ Let me intro- 
duce to you the grave and learned member of the family, to 
whom we all speak with bated breath. You must not expect 
him to get acquainted with you in any ordinary way. He will 
investigate you, and never rest until he has discovered all the 
hidden laws of your being. Now, Webb, I will support you 
while Amy kisses you, and then you may sit down and analyze 
your sensations, and perhaps cipher out a method by which a 
kiss can be rendered tenfold more effective.” 

Unmoved by his brother’s raillery, Webb took the young 
girl’s hand, and looked at her so earnestly with his dark, grave 
eyes, that hers drooped. “Sister Amy,” he said, gently, “I 
was prepared to welcome you on general principles, but I now 
welcome you for your own sake. Rattlebrain Burt will make a 
good playmate, but you will come to me when you are in 
trouble ; ” and he kissed her brow. 

The girl looked up with a swift, grateful glance ; it seemed 
odd to her, even at that moment of strong and confused im- 
pressions, and with the salutes of her guardians still warm upon 
her cheek, that she felt a sense of rest/and security never known 
before. “ He will be my brother in very truth,” was the inter- 
pretation which her heart gave to his quiet words. They all 
smiled, for the course of the reticent and undemonstrative 
young man was rather unexpected. Burtis indulged in a ring- 
ing laugh, as he said : 

“Father, mother, you must both feel wonderfully relieved. 
Webb is to look after Amy in her hours of woe, which, of 
course, will be frequent in this vale of tears. He will con- 
sole you, Amy, by explaining how tears, are formed, and how, 
by a proper regard for the sequence of cause and effect, 


AMY WINFIELD. 


17 

there might be more or less of them, according to your 
desire.” 

“ I think I understand Webb,” was her smiling answer. 

“ Don’t imagine it. He is a perfect sphinx. Never before 
has he opened his mouth so widely, and only an occasion like 
this could have moved him. You must have unconsciously re- 
vealed a hidden law, or else he would have been as mum as an 
oyster.” 

Leonard, meanwhile, had seated himself, and was holding 
little Ned on his knee, his arm at the same time encircling shy, 
sensitive Johnnie, who was fairly trembling with excited expect- 
ancy. Ned, with his thumb in his mouth, regarded his new 
relative in a nonchalant manner ; but to the little girl the home- 
world was the world, and the arrival in its midst of the beautiful 
lady never seen before was as wonderful as any fairy tale. In- 
deed, that such a June-like creature should come to them that 
wintry day — that she had crossed the terrible ocean from a 
foreign realm far more remote, in the child’s consciousness, than 
fairy-land — seemed quite as strange as if Cinderella had stepped 
out of the story-book with the avowed purpose of remaining 
with them until hei; lost slipper was found. Leonard, big and 
strong as he was, felt and interpreted the delicate and thrilling 
organism of his child, and, as Amy turned towards him, he 
said, with a smile : 

“ No matter about me. We’re old friends ; for I’ve known 
you ever since you were a little girl at the station. What if you 
did grow to be a young woman while riding home ! Stranger 
things than that happen every day in story-books, don’t they, 
Johnnie? Johnnie, you must know, has the advantage of the 
rest of us. She likes bread-and-butter, and kindred realities of 
our matter-of-fact sphere, but she also has a world of her own, 
which is quite as real. I think she is inclined to believe that 
you are a fairy princess, and that you may have a wand in your 
pocket by which you can restore to her doll the missing nose 
and arm.” 


i8 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Amy scarcely needed Leonard’s words in order to understand 
the child, for the period was not remote when, in her own mind, 
the sharp outlines of fact had shaded off into the manifold 
mysteries of wonderland. Therefore, with an appreciation and 
a gentleness which won anew all hearts, she took the little girl 
on her lap, and said, smilingly : 

“ I have a wee wand with which, I’m sure, I can do much 
for you, and perhaps something for dolly. I can’t claim to be 
a fairy princess, but I shall try to be as good to you as if I 
were one.” 

Webb, with his book upside down, looked at the young girl 
in a way which proved that he shared in Johnnie’s wonder and 
vague anticipation. Alfred, behind his grandfather’s chair, was 
the only one who felt aggrieved and disappointed. Thus far 
he had been overlooked, but he did not much care, for this 
great girl could be no companion for him. Amy, however, had 
woman’s best grace — tact — and guessed his trouble. “Alf,” 
she said, calling him by his household name, and turning upon 
him her large hazel eyes, which contained spells as yet unknown 
even to herself — “Alf, don’t be disappointed. You shall find 
that I am not too big to play with you.” 

The boy yielded at once to a grace which he would be years 
in learning to understand, and which yet affected him subtilely, 
and with something of the same influence that it had upon 
Webb, who felt that a new element was entering into his life. 
Mercurial Burtis, however, found nothing peculiar in his own 
pleasant sensations. He had a score of young lady friends* 
and was merely delighted to find in Amy a very attractive 
young woman, instead of a child or a dull, plain- featured girl, 
towards whom brotherly attentions might often become a bore. 
He lived intensely in the present hour, and was more than 
content that his adopted sister was quite to his taste. 

“Well, Amy,” said Mr. Clifford, benignantly, “you seem to 
have stepped in among us as if there had always been a niche 
waiting for you, and I think that, after you have broken bread 


AMY WINFIELD. 


19 


with us, and have had a quiet sleep under the old roof, you will 
feel at home. Come, I’m going to take you out to supper 
to-night, and, Burt, do you be as gallant to your mother.” 

The young fellow made them all laugh by imitating his fath- 
er’s old-style courtesy; and a happy circle of faces gathered 
around the board in the cheerful supper-room, to which a pro- 
fuse decoration of evergreens gave a delightfully aromatic odor. 
Mr. Clifford’s “ grace ” was not a formal mumble, but a grateful 
acknowledgment of the source from which, as he truly believed, 
had flowed all the good that had blessed their life ; and then 
followed the genial, unrestrained table-talk of a household that, 
as yet, possessed no closeted skeleton. The orphan sat among 
them, and her mourning weeds spoke of a great and recent 
sorrow, which might have been desolation, but already her 
kindling eyes and flushed cheeks proved that this strong, bright 
current of family life would have the power to carry her for- 
ward to a new, spring-like experience. To her foreign-bred 
eyes there was an abundance of novelty in this American home, 
but it was like the strangeness of heaven to the poor girl, who 
for months had been so sad and almost despairing. With the 
strong reaction natural to youth after long depression, her 
heart responded to the glad life about her, and again she re- 
peated the words to herself, “ I’m sure — oh, I am sure I shall 
be happy here.” 


20 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY, 


CHAPTER III. 

A COUNTRY FIRESIDE. 

A FTER supper they all gathered for a time in the large 
general sitting-room, and careful Leonard went the rounds 
of the barn and out-buildings. Mr. Clifford, with considerate 
kindness, had resolved to defer all conversation with Amy re- 
lating to her bereavement and the scenes that had ensued. At 
this holiday-time they would make every effort within their 
power to pierce with light and warmth the cold gray clouds 
that of late had gathered so heavily over the poor child’s life. 
At the same time their festivities would be subdued by the 
memory of her recent sorrow, and restricted to their immediate 
family circle. But, instead of obtrusive kindness, they envel- 
oped her in the home atmosphere, and made her one of them. 
The manner in which old Mrs. Clifford kept her near and 
retained her hand was a benediction in itself. 

Leonard was soon heard stamping the snow from his boots 
on the back piazza, and in a few moments he entered, shivering. 

“The coldest night of the year,” he exclaimed. “Ten 
below zero, and it will probably be twelve before morning. It’,s 
too bad, Amy, that you have had such a cold reception.” 

“ The thermometer makes a good foil for your smile,” she 
replied. “ Indeed, I think the mercury rose a little while you 
were looking at it.” 

“ Oh no,” he said, laughing, “ even you could not make it 
rise to-night. Heigho, Ned! coming to kiss good-night? I 
say, Ned, tell us what mamma has for Amy’s stocking. What 


A COUNTRY FIRESIDE . 


2 


a good joke it is, to be sure ! We all had the impression you 
were a little girl, you know, and selected our gifts accordingly. 
Burt actually bought you a doll. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Maggie had 
planned to have you hang up your stocking with the children, 
and such a lot of little traps and sweets she has for you ! ” 

The boy, to whom going to bed at the usual hour was a 
heavy cross on this momentous evening, promptly availed him- 
self of a chance for delay by climbing on Amy’s lap, and going 
into a voluble inventory of the contents of a drawer into which 
he had obtained several surreptitious peeps. His effort to tell 
an interminable story that he might sit up longer, the droll 
havoc he made with his English, and the naming of the toys 
that were destined for the supposed child, evoked an unforced 
merriment which banished the last vestige of restraint. 

“ Well, I’m glad it has all happened so,” said Amy, after the 
little fellow had reluctantly come to the end of his facts and 
his invention also. “ You make me feel as if I had known you 
for years — almost, indeed, as if I had come to you as a little 
girl, and had grown up among you. Come, Ned, it shall all 
turn out just as you expected. I’ll go with you up-stairs, and 
hang my stocking beside yours, and mamma shall put into it all 
the lovely things you have told me about. Santa Claus does 
not know much about my coming here, nor what kind of. a girl 
I am, so your kind mamma meant to act the part of Santa 
Claus in my behalf this year, and give him a chance to get ac- 
quainted with me. But he knows all about you, and there’s no 
telling how soon he may come to fill your stocking. You know 
he has to fill the stockings of all the little boys and girls in the 
country, and that will take a long time. So I think we had 
better go at once, for I don’t believe he would like it if he 
came and found you up and awake.” 

This put a new aspect upon going to bed early, and having 
seen his short, chubby stocking dangling with a long, slender 
one of Amy’s by the chimney-side, Ned closed his eyes with 
ineffable content and faith. Amy then returned to the sitting- 


22 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


room, whither she was soon followed by Maggie, and after 
some further light and laughing talk the conversation naturally 
drifted towards those subjects in which the family was practically 
interested. 

“ What do you think, father?” Leonard asked. “ Won’t this 
finish the peach and cherry buds? I’ve always heard that ten 
degrees of cold below zero destroyed the fruit germs.” 

“Not always,” replied the man of long experience. “It 
depends much upon their condition when winter sets in, and 
whether, previous to the cold snap, there have been prolonged 
thaws. The new growth on the trees ripened thoroughly last 
fall, and the frost since has been gradual and steady. I’ve 
known peach-buds to survive fifteen below zero ; but there’s 
always danger in weather like this. We shall know what the 
prospects are after the buds thaw out.” 

“ How will that be possible ? ” Amy asked, in surprise. 

“ Now, Webb, is your chance to shine,” cried Burtis. 
“ Hitherto, Amy, the oracle has usually been dumb, but you may 
become a priestess who will evoke untold stores of wisdom.” 

Webb flushed slightly, but again proved that his brother’s 
banter had little influence. 

“ If you are willing to wait a few days,” he said, with a smile, 
“ I can make clear to you, by the aid of a microscope, what 
father means, much better than I can explain. I can then show 
you the fruit germs either perfect or blackened by the frost.” 

“I’ll wait, and remind you of your promise, too. I don’t 
know nearly as much about the country as a butterfly or a bird, 
but should be quite as unhappy as they were I condemned to 
city life. So you must not laugh at me if I ask no end of ques- 
tions, and try to put my finger into some of your horticultural 
pies.” 

His pleased look contained all the assurance she needed, and 
he resumed, speaking generally : “ The true places for raising 
peaches — indeed, all the stone-fruits — successfully in this re- 
gion are the plateaus and slopes of the mountains beyond us. 


A COUNTRY FIRESIDE. 


23 


At their height the mercury never falls as low as it does with us, 
and when we have not a peach or cherry I have found such 
trees as existed high up among the hills well laden.” 

“ Look here, uncle Webb,” cried Alf, “ you’ve forgotten your 
geography. The higher you go up the colder it gets.” 

The young man patiently explained to the boy that the height 
of the Highlands is not sufficient to cause any material change 
in climate, while on still nights the coldest air sinks to the low- 
est levels, and therefore the trees in the valleys and at the base 
of the mountains suffer the most. “ But what you say,” he con- 
cluded, “is true as a rule. The mercury does range lower 
on the hills ; and if they were a thousand or fifteen hundred feet 
higher peaches could not be grown at all.” 

Amy mentally soliloquized : “I am learning not only about 
the mercury, but also — what Alf has no doubt already found 
out — that Webb is the one to go to if one wishes anything ex- 
plained. What’s more, he wouldn’t, in giving the information, 
overwhelm one with a sense of deplorable ignorance.” 

In accordance with his practical bent, Webb continued : “ I 
believe that a great deal of money could be made in the High- 
lands by raising peaches. The crop would be almost certain, 
and the large late varieties are those which bring the extraordi- 
nary prices. What is more, the mountain land would probably 
have the quality of virgin soil. You remember, father, don’t 
you, when peaches in this region were scarcely troubled by 
disease ? ” 

“ Indeed I do. There was a time when they would live on 
almost like apple-trees, and give us an abundance of great lus- 
cious fruit year after year. Even with the help of the pigs we 
could not dispose of the crops, the bulk of which, in many in- 
stances, I am sorry to say, went into brandy. What was that 
you were reading the other day about peaches in Hawthorne’s 
description of the old Manse?” 

Webb took the book and read: “Peach-trees which, in a 
good year, tormented me with peaches neither to be eaten 


24 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


nor kept, nor, without labor and perplexity, to be given 
away.” 

“That hits it exactly,” resumed the old gentleman, laughing, 
“ only every year was a good year then, and we had not the 
New York market within three hours of us. Even if we had, a 
large modern orchard would have supplied it. One of the most 
remarkable of the changes I’ve witnessed in my time is the 
enormous consumption of fruit in large cities. Why, more is 
disposed of in Newburgh than used to go to New York. But 
to return to peaches ; our only chance for a long time has been 
to plant young trees every year or two, and we scarcely secured 
a crop more than once in three years. Even then the yellows 
often destroyed the trees before they were old enough to bear 
much. They are doing far better of late along the Hudson, and 
there is good prospect that this region will become the greatest 
peach-growing locality in the country.” 

“ I’m sure you are right,” assented Webb, “ and I think it 
will pay us to plant largely in the spring. I don’t suppose you 
ever saw a peach-orchard in England, Amy? ” 

“ I don’t think I ever did. They were all grown in front of 
sunny walls, espalier , as papa termed it. We had some in our 
garden.” 

“ Yes,” resumed Webb, “ the climate there is too cool and 
humid for even the wood to ripen. Here, on the contrary, we 
often have too vivid sunshine. I propose that we put out all 
the north slope in peaches.” 

“ Do you think a northern exposure best? ” Leonard asked. 

“ I certainly do. In my opinion it is not the frost, unless it 
be very severe, that plays the mischief with the buds, but alter- 
nate freezing and thawing, especially after the buds have started 
in spring. On a northern slope the buds usually remain dormant 
until the danger of late frosts is over. I am quite sure, too, that 
the yellows is a disease due chiefly to careless or dishonest 
propagation. Pits and buds have been taken from infected 
trees, and thus the evil has been spread far and wide. There 


A COUNTRY FIRESIDE . 


25 


is as much to be gained in the careful and long-continued selec- 
tion of fruits and vegetables as in the judicious breeding of 
stock.” 

“ Has no remedy for the yellows been discovered? ” Leonard 
again queried. 

“ Only the axe and fire. The evil should be extirpated as fast 
as it appears. Prevention is far better than any attempt at cure. 
The thing to do is to obtain healthier trees, and then set them 
out on new land. That’s why I think the north slope will be a 
good place, for peaches have never been grown there in my 
memory.” 

“ Come, Amy,” said Burt. " Len and Webb are now fairly 
astride of their horticultural hobbies. Come with me, and see 
the moon shining on old Storm King.” 



A WINTER MEADOW. 


They pushed aside the heavy crimson curtains, which added 
a sense of warmth to the cheerful room, and looked at the cold 
white world without — a ghost of a world, it seemed to Amy. 
The moon, nearly full, had risen in the gap of the Highlands, 
and had now climbed well above the mountains, softening and 
etherealizing them until every harsh, rugged outline was lost. 
The river at their feet looked pallid and ghostly also. When 
not enchained by frost, lights twinkled here and there all over 
its broad surface, and the intervals were brief when the throbbing 
engines of some passing steamer were not heard. Now it was 
like the face of the dead when a busy life is over. 


2 6 


NATL/RE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“It’s all very beautiful,” said Amy, shivering, “ but too cold 
and still. I love life, and this reminds one of death, the 
thoughts of which, with all that it involves, have oppressed me 
so long that I must throw off the burden. I was growing mor- 
bid, and giving way to a deeper and deeper depression, and now 
your sunny home life seems just the antidote for it all.” 

The warm-hearted fellow was touched, for there were tears 
in the young girl’s eyes. “You have come to the right place, 
Amy,” he said, eagerly. “ You cannot love life more than I, 
and I promise to make it lively for you. I’m just the physician 
to minister to the mind diseased with melancholy. Trust me. 
I can do a hundred-fold more for you than delving, matter-of- 
fact Webb. So come to me when you have the blues. Let us 
make an alliance offensive and defensive against all the powers 
of dulness and gloom.” 

“ I’ll do my best,” she replied, smiling ; “ but there will be 
hours, and perhaps days, when the past with its shadows will 
come back too vividly for me to escape it.” 

“ I’ll banish all shadows, never fear. I’ll make the present 
so real and jolly that you will forget the past.” 

“ I don’t wish to forget, but only to think of it without the 
dreary foreboding and sinking of heart that oppressed me till I 
came here. I know you will do much for me, but I am sure 
I shall like Webb also.” 

“ Oh, of course you will. He’s one of the best fellows in the 
world. Don’t think that I misunderstand him or fail to appre- 
ciate his worth because I love to run him so. Perhaps you’ll 
wake him up and get him out of his ruts. But I foresee that 
I’m the medicine you most need. Come to the fire ; you are 
shivering.” 

“ Oh, I’m so glad that I’ve found such a home,” she said, 
with a grateful glance, as she emerged from the curtains. 


GUNNING BY MOONLIGHT. 


27 


CHAPTER IV. 

GUNNING BY MOONLIGHT. 

W EBB saw the glance from eyes on which were still traces 
of tears ; he also saw his brother’s look of sympathy ; 
and with the kindly purpose of creating a diversion to her 
thoughts he started up, breaking off his discussion with Leonard, 
and left the room. A moment later he returned from the hall 
with the double-barrelled gun. 

“ What now, Webb?” cried Burt, on the qui vive . “ You 

will make Amy think we are attacked by Indians.” 

“ If you are not afraid of the cold, get your gun, and I think 
I can give you some sport, and, for a wonder, make you useful 
also,” Webb replied. “While you were careering this after- 
noon I examined the young trees in the nursery, and found that 
the rabbits were doing no end of mischief. It has been so 
cold, and the snow is so deep, that the little rascals are gather- 
ing near the house. They have gnawed nearly all the bark off 
the stems of some of the trees, and I doubt whether I can 
save them. At first I was puzzled by their performances. You 
know, father, that short nursery row grafted with our seedling 
apple, the Highland Beauty ? Well, I found many of the lower 
twigs taken off with a sharp, slanting cut, as if they had been 
severed with a knife, and* I imagined that a thrifty neighbor 
had resolved to share in our monopoly of the new variety, but 
I soon discovered that the cuttings had been made too much 
at random to confirm the impression that some one had been 
gathering scions for grafting. Tracks on the snow, and girdled 


28 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


trees, soon made it evident that rabbits were the depredators. 
One of the little pests must have climbed into a bushy tree at 
least eighteen inches from the snow, in order to reach the twigs 
I found cut.” 

“A rabbit up a tree!” exclaimed Leonard. “ Who ever 
heard of such a thing?” 

“ Well, you can see for yourself to-morrow,” Webb resumed. 
“ Of course we can’t afford to pasture the little fellows on our 
young trees, and so must feed them until they can be shot or 
trapped. The latter method will be good fun for you, Alf. 
This afternoon I placed sweet apples, cabbage-leaves, and tur- 
nips around the edge of a little thicket near the trees; and, 
Burt, you know there is a clump of evergreens near, from whose 
cover I think we can obtain some good shots. So get your 
gun, and we’ll start even.” 

At the prospect of sport Burt forgot Amy and everything else, 
and dashed off. 

“ Oh, papa, can’t I go with them? ” pleaded Alf. 

“ What do you think, Maggie ? ” Leonard asked his wife, 
who now entered. 

“Well, boys will be boys. If you will let mamma bundle 
you up — ” 

“ Oh yes, anything, if I can only go ! ” cried Alf, trembling 
with excitement. 

“ Sister Amy,” Webb remarked, a little diffidently, “ if you 
care to see the fun, you can get a good view from the window 
of your room. I’ll load my gun in the hall.” 

“Can I see you load?” Amy asked, catching some of Alf’s 
strong interest. “ It’s all so novel to me.” 

“Certainly. I think you will soon find that you can do 
pretty much as you please in yourjuew home. You are now 
among republicans, you know, and we are scarcely conscious of 
any government.” 

“ But I have already discovered one very strong law in this 
household,” she smilingly asserted, as she stood beside him 


GUNNING BY MOONLIGHT. 2Q 

near the hall-table, on which he had placed his powder-flask 
and shot-pouch. 

“ Ah, what is that?” he asked, pouring the powder carefully 
into the muzzles of the gun. 

“The law of kindness, of good-will. Why,” she exclaimed, 
“ I expected to be weeks in getting acquainted, but here you 
are all calling me sister Amy as if it were the most natural thing 
in the world. It seems so odd,” she laughed, “ that I am not a 
bit afraid of you, even with your gun, and yet we have just met, 
as it were. The way you and your brothers say ‘ sister Amy ’ 
makes the relation seem real. I can scarcely believe that I am 
the same girl that stepped down' at the station this evening, 
nor can I get over my pleased wonder at the transformation.” 

“ Amy,” said the young man, earnestly, “ your coming prom- 
ises so much to us all ! You were just the one element lacking 
in our home. I now see that it was so. I already have the 
presentiment that you will do more for us than we can for you.” 

“ I ought to do all that the deepest gratitude could prompt. 
You have never known what it is to be desolate* one hour, and 
to find an ideal home the next.” 

“ I wish it might be an ideal home to you ; but don’t expect 
too much. You will find some of us very human.” 

“Therefore I shall feel the more at home. Papa always 
spoiled me by letting me have my own way, and I shall often 
tax your patience. Do you know, I never saw a gun loaded 
before. There seems t6 be so much going on here, and I have 
lived such a quiet life of late. How will you make the thing 
go off ? ” 

“ These little percussion-caps will do the business. It seems 
to me that I’ve always been quiet, and perhaps a trifle heavy. 
I hope you will think it your mission to render me less matter- 
of-fact. I’m ready now, and here comes Burt with his breech- 
loader. If you will go to your room now, you can see our 
shots.” 

A moment later she stood with Johnnie at her window, both 


30 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


almost holding their breath in expectation as they saw the 
young men, with Alf following, steal towards a clump of ever- 
greens behind the house. 

“ Quiet and steady now,” Webb cautioned his eager brother ; 
“ and, Alf, you step in my tracks, so there may be no noise.” 
Thus they made their way among the pines, and peered cau- 
tiously out. “ Hold on, Burt,” Webb whispered, as the former 
was bringing his gun to his shoulder ; “ I want a crack at them 
as well as yourself. Let’s reconnoitre. Yes, there are three or 
four of the scamps. Let Alf see them. They look so pretty 
in the moonlight that I’ve scarcely the heart to disturb, much 
less to kill them.” 

“ Oh, stop your sentimental nonsense 1 ” muttered Burt, im- 
patiently. “ It’s confoundedly cold, and they may take fright 
and disappear.” 

“ Black ingratitude ! ” Webb exclaimed. “ If there isn’t one 
in the apple nursery in spite of all my provision for them ! 
That ends my compunctions. I’ll take him, and you that big 
fellow munching a cabbage-leaf. We’ll count three — now, 
one, two — ” The two reports rang out as one, and the 
watchers at the window saw the flashes, and thrilled at the 
reverberating echoes. 

“ It’s almost as exciting as if they were shooting Indians, 
robbers, or giants,” cried Johnnie, clapping her hands and 
jumping up and down. 

“Back,” said Webb to Alf, who was about to rush forward 
to secure the game ; “ we may get another shot.” 

They waited a few moments in vain, and then succumbed to 
the cold. To Alf was given the supreme delight of picking up 
the game that lay on the snow, making with their blood the one 
bit of color in all the white garden. 

“ Poor little chaps ! ” Webb remarked, as he joined the 
family gathered around Alf and the rabbits in the sitting-room. 
“ It’s a pity the world wasn’t wide enough for us all.” 

“What has come over you, Webb?” asked Burt, lifting his 



hunting by mqonlight. 









32 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


eyebrows. “ Has there been a hidden spring of sentiment in 
your nature all these years, which has just struck the surface? ” 
It was evident that nearly all shared in Webb’s mild regret 
that such a sudden period had been put to life at once so 
pretty, innocent, and harmful. Alf, however, was conscious of 
only pure exultation. Your boy is usually a genuine savage, 
governed solely by the primal instinct of the chase and destruc- 
tion of wild animals. He stroked the fur, and with eyes of 
absorbed curiosity examined the mischievous teeth, the long 
ears, the queer little feet that never get cold, and the places 
where the lead had entered with the sharp deadly shock that 
had driven out into the chill night the nameless something 
which had been the little creature’s life. Amy, too, stroked 
the fur with a pity on her face which made it very sweet to 
Webb, while tender-hearted Johnnie was exceedingly remorse- 
ful, and wished to know whether “ the bunnies, if put by the 
fire, would not come to life before morning.” Indeed, there 
was a general chorus of commiseration, which Burt brought to 
a prosaic conclusion by saying : “ Crocodile tears, every one. 
You’ll all enjoy the pot-pie to-morrow with great gusto. By 
the way, I’ll prop up one of these little fellows at the foot of 
Ned’s crib, and in the morning he’ll think that the original 
‘ Br’er Rabbit ’ has hopped out of Uncle Remus’s stories to 
make him a Christmas visit.” 


CHRISTMAS EVE AND MORNING. 


33 


CHAPTER V. 

CHRISTMAS EVE AND MORNING.. 

O LD Mrs. Clifford now created a diversion by asking : 

“ How about our plants to-night, Maggie ? Ought we 
not to take some precautions ? Once before when it was as 
cold as this we lost some, you know.” 

“ Leonard,” said his wife, in response to the suggestion, “ it* 
will be safer for you to put a tub of water in the flower-room ; 
that will draw the frost from the plants. Mother is the queen 
of the flowers in this house,” continued Mrs. Leonard, turning 
to Amy, “ and I think she will be inclined to appoint you first 
lady in attendance. She finds me cumbered with too many 
other cares. But it doesn’t matter. Mother has only to look 
at the plants to make them grow and bloom.” 

“ There you are mistaken,” replied the old lady, laughing. 
“ Flowers are like babies. I never made much of a fuss over 
my babies, but I loved them, and saw that they had just what 
they needed at the right time.” 

“ That accounts for Webb’s exuberant growth and spirit, and 
the ethereal beauty of Len’s mature blossoming,” remarked 
Burt. 

“ You are a plant that never had enough pruning,” retorted 
his portly eldest brother. 

“ I shall be glad to help you, if you will teach me how,” Amy 
said to Mrs. Clifford. 

“ In the pruning department?” asked Burt, with assumed 
dismay. 


/ 


34 NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 

“ Possibly,” was the reply, with an arch little look which de- 
lighted the young fellow. 

“ Come, Maggie,” said Mrs. Clifford, “ sing a Christmas carol 
before we separate. It will be a pleasant way of bringing our 
happy evening to a close.” 

Mrs. Leonard went to the piano. “ Amy,” she asked, 
“ can’t you help me?” 

“ I’ll do my best, if you will choose something I know.” 

A selection was soon made, and Amy modestly blended a 
clear, sweet voice with the air that Mrs. Leonard sang, and as 
the sympathetic tones of the young girl swelled the rich volume 
of song the others exchanged looks of unaffected pleasure. 

“ Oh, Amy, I am so glad you can sing ! ” cried Mrs. Clifford, 
“ for we have always made so much of music in our home.” 

“ Papa,” she replied, with moist eyes, “ felt as you do, and 
he had me sing for him ever since I can remember.” 

“ Amy dear,” said Mrs. Leonard, in a low voice, “ suppose 
you take the soprano and I the alto in the next stanza.” 

They were all delighted with the result, and another selection 
was made, in which Burt’s tenor and Webb’s bass came in with 
fine effect. 

“ Amy, what a godsend you are to us all!” said Leonard, 
enthusiastically. “ I am one of the great army of poets who 
can’t sing, but a poet nevertheless.” 

“ Yes, indeed, Len,” added Burt; “ it needs but a glance to 
see that you are of that ethereal mould of which poets and 
singers are made. But isn’t it capital ! We now have all the 
four parts.” 

“ Amy,” said Mr. Clifford, “ do you know an old Christmas 
hymn that your father and I loved when we were as young as 
you are? ” and he named it. 

“ I have often sung it for him, and he usually spoke of you 
when I did so ; ” and she sang sweet, undying words to a 
sweet, quaint air in a voice that trembled with feeling. 

The old gentleman wiped his eyes again and again. “ Ah ! ” 


CHRISTMAS EVE AND MORNING . 


35 


he said, “ how that takes me back into the past .! My friend 
and I knew and loved that air and hymn over sixty years ago. 
I can see him now as he looked then. God bless his child, 
and now my child ! ” he added, as he drew Amy caressingly 
towards him. “ A brief evening has made you one of us. I 
thank God that he has sent one whom it will be so easy for us 
all to love ; and we gratefully accept you as a Christmas gift 
from Heaven.” 

Then, with the simplicity of an ancient patriarch, he gathered 
his household around the family altar, black Abram and two 
maids entering at his summons, and taking seats with an air of 
deference near the door. Not long afterwards the old house 
stood silent and dark in the pallid landscape. 

Though greatly wearied, Amy was kept awake during the 
earlier part of the night by the novelty of her new life and 
relations, and she was awakened in the late dawn of the follow- 
ing day by exclamations of delight from Mrs. Leonard’s room. 
She soon remembered that it was Christmas morning. The 
children evidently had found their stockings, for she heard 
Johnnie say, “Oh, mamma, do you think aunt Amy is awake? 
I would so like to take her stocking to her !” 

“ Yes,” cried Amy, “ I’m awake ; ” and the little girl, draped 
in white, soon pushed open the door, holding her own and 
Amy’s stockings in hands that trembled with delightful antici- 
pation. 

“Jump into bed with me,” said Amy, “and we will empty 
our stockings together.” 

The years rolled back, the previous months of sorrow and 
suffering were forgotten ; the day, the hour, with its associations, 
the eager child that nestled close to her, made her a child 
again. She yielded wholly to her mood ; she would be a little 
girl once more, Johnnie’s companion in feeling and delight; 
and the morning of her life was still so new that the impulses 
of that enchanted age before the light of experience has defined 
the world into its matter-of-fact proportions came back unforced 


36 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


and unaffected. Her voice vied with Johnnie’s in its notes of 
excitement and pleasure, and to more than one who heard her 
it seemed that their first impression was correct, that a little 
child had come to them, and that the tall, graceful maiden was 
a myth. 

“ Merry Christmas, Amy ! ” cried the voice of Webb on the 
stairs. 

The child vanished instantly, and a blushing girl let fall the 
half-emptied stocking. Something in that deep voice proved 
that if she were not yet a woman, she had drawn so near that 
mystery of life that its embarrassing self-consciousness was be- 
ginning to assert itself. “ How silly he will think me ! ” was 
her mental comment, as she returned his greeting in a voice 
that was rather faint. 

The “rising bell ” now resounded through the house, and she 
sprang up with the purpose of making amends by a manner 
of marked dignity. And yet there remained with her a sense of 
home security, of a great and new-found happiness, which the 
cold gray morning could not banish. The air-tight stove 
glowed with heat and comfort, and she afterwards learned that 
Mrs. Leonard had replenished the fire so noiselessly as not to 
awaken her. The hearty Christmas greetings of the family as 
she came into the breakfast-room were like an echo of the 
angels’ song of “ good-will.” The abounding kindliness and 
genuine pleasure at her presence made the feeling that she had 
indeed become one of the household seem the most natural 
thing in the world, instead of a swiftly wrought miracle. 

Little Ned had in his arms one of the rabbits that had been 
shot on the previous evening, and to him it was more wonder- 
ful than all his toys. “You should have seen him when he 
awoke,” said his mother, “ and saw the poor little thing propped 
up at the foot of his crib. His eyes grew wider and rounder, 
and at last he breathed, in an awed whisper, ‘ Br’er Rabbit.’ 
But he soon overcame his surprise, and the jargon he talked to 
it made pur sides ache with laughing.” 


CHRISTMAS EVE AND MORNING. 


37 


The gifts that had been prepared for the supposed child were 
taken by Amy in very good part, but with the tact of a well- 
bred girl who would not spoil a jest, rather than with the undis- 
guised delight of Johnnie. 

“Only Johnnie and I have seen little Amy,” said Leonard — 
“ I at the depot before she grew up ; and this morning she be- 
came a little girl again as a Christmas wonder for my little girl. 
Johnnie’s faith and fairy lore may make the transformation pos- 
sible to her again, but I fear the rest of us will never catch 
another glimpse of the child we expected ; ” for Amy’s grown- 
up air since she had appeared in the breakfast-room had been 
almost a surprise to him after hearing through the partition her 
pretty nonsense over her stocking. 

“ I fear you are right,” said Amy, with a half-sigh ; “ and yet 
it was lovely to feel just like Johnnie once more ; ” and she 
stole a shy glance at Webb, who must have heard some of her 
exclamations. The expression of his face seemed to reassure 
her, and without further misgiving she joined in a laugh at one 
of Burt’s sallies. 


3 ^ 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER VI. 


nature’s half-known secrets. 


MY’S thoughts naturally reverted before very long to Mrs. 



i V Clifford’s pets — the flowers — and she asked how they 
had endured the intense cold of the night. 

“They have had a narrow escape,” the old lady replied. 
“ If Maggie had not suggested the tub of water last night, I 
fear we should have lost the greater part of them.” . 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Leonard, “ I went to the flower-room with 
fear and trembling this morning, and when I found the water 
frozen thick I was in despair.” 

d It was the water freezing that saved the plants,” Webb re- 
marked, quietly. “ I put water in the root-cellar before I went 
to bed last night, with like good effect.” 

“ Well, for the life of me,” said Maggie, “ I can’t understand 
why the plants and roots don’t freeze when water does.” 

“ Come, Burt,” added her husband, “ you are a college-bred 
man. You explain how the water draws the frost from the plants.” 

“ Oh, bother ! ” Burt answered, flushing slightly, “ I’ve for- 
gotten. Some principle of latent heat involved, I believe. 
Ask Webb. If he could live long enough he’d coax from Na- 
ture all her secrets. He’s the worst Paul Pry into her affairs 
that I ever knew. So beware, Amy, unless you are more secre- 
tive than Nature, which I cannot believe, since you seem so 
natural.” 

“ I’m afraid your knowledge, Burt, resembles latent heat,” 
laughed Leonard. “ Come, see what you can do, Webb.” 


NATURE'S HALF-KNOWN SECRETS. 


39 


“ Burt is right,” said Webb, good-naturedly ; “ the principle 
of latent heat explains it all, and he could refresh his memory 
in a few moments. The water does not draw the frost from 
the plants, but before it can freeze it must give out one hundred 
and forty degrees of latent heat. The flower-room and root- 
cellar were therefore so much warmer during the night than if 
the water had not been there. The plants that were nipped 
probably suffered after the ice became so thick as to check in 
a great measure the freezing process.” 

“ How can ice stop water from freezing? ” Alf asked, in much 
astonishment. 

“ By keeping it warm, on the same principle that your bed- 
clothes kept you warm last night. Heat passes very slowly 
through ice — that is, it is a poor conductor. With the snow 
it is the winter wrap of nature, which protects all life beneath 
it. When our ponds and rivers are once frozen over, the latent 
heat in the water beneath can escape through the ice but very 
gradually, and every particle of ice that forms gives out into 
the water next to it one hundred and forty degrees of heat. 
Were it not for these facts our ponds would soon become solid. 
But to return to the tub of water in the flower-room. The 
water, when placed there, was probably warmer than the air, 
and so would give out or radiate its heat until a thermometer, 
placed either in the room or in the water, would mark thirty- 
two degrees above zero. At this point the water would begin 
to freeze, but plants or vegetables would not. They would re- 
quire slightly severer cold to affect them. But as soon as the 
water begins to freeze it also gradually gives out its latent heat, 
and before a particle of ice can form it must give out one hun- 
dred and forty degrees of heat to the air and water around it. 
Therefore the freezing process goes on slowly, and both the air 
and water are kept comparatively warm. After a time, how- 
ever, the ice becomes so thick over the surface that the freezing 
goes on more and more slowly, because the latent heat in the 
unfrozen water cannot readily escape through the ice. It is 


40 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


therefore retained, just as the latent heat in the water of an 
ice-covered pond is retained.” 

“ It follows, then,” said Leonard, “ that after the water be- 
neath the ice in the tub began to freeze slowly, the flower-room, 
in that same degree, began to grow cold.” 

“ Certainly, for only as the water freezes can it give out its 
latent heat. The thick wooden side of the tub is a poor con- 
ductor ; the ice that has formed over the surface is even a 
worse, and so the water within is shielded from the cold. It 
therefore almost ceases to freeze, and so becomes of no practi- 
cal use. An intelligent understanding of these principles is of 
great practical value. If I could have waked up and placed 
another tub of water in the room at two or three o’clock, or 
else taken all of the ice out of the first one, the process of 
freezing and giving out heat would have gone on rapidly again, 
and none of the plants would have suffered. I have heard 
people say that putting water in a cellar was all a humbug — 
that the water froze and the vegetables also. Of course the 
vegetables froze after the water congealed, or the cellar may 
have been so defective that both froze at the same time. The 
latent heat given out by a small amount of freezing water can- 
not counteract any great severity of frost.” 

“The more water you have, then, the better?” said his 
father. 

“Yes, for then there is more to freeze, and the effect is more 
gradual and lasting.” 

“ I feel highly honored, Webb,” said his mother, smiling, 
“ that so much science should minister to me and my little col- 
lection of plants. I now see that the why and wherefore comes 
in very usefully. But please tell me why you put the plants 
that were touched with frost into cold water, and why you will 
not let the sunlight fall on them? ” 

“ For the same reason that you would put your hand in 
cold water if frost-bitten. Your expression, * touched with 
frost/ shows that there is hope for them. If they were 


4i 


i 

NATURE'S HALF-KNOWN SECRETS. 

thoroughly frozen you would lose them. Your plants, you 
know, are composed chiefly of water, which fills innumerable 
little cells formed by the vegetable tissue. If the water in the 
cells is chilled beyond a certain point, if it becomes solid ice, it 
expands and breaks down the tissue of the cells, and the structure 
of the plant is destroyed. If the frost can be gradually with- 
drawn so as to leave the cells substantially intact, they can 
eventually resume their functions, and the plant receive no 
very great injury.” * 

•“ But why does sudden heat or sunlight destroy a frosted plant ?” 

“ For the same reason that it breaks down the vegetable 
tissue. Heat expands, and the greater the heat the more rapid 
the expansion. When the rays of the sun, which contain a 
great deal of heat, fall on any part of a frost-bitten plant, that 
part begins to expand so rapidly and violently that the cellular 
tissues are ruptured, and life is destroyed. What is more, the 
heat does not permeate equally and at once the parts affected 
by frost. The part farthest away from the heat remains 
contracted, while the parts receiving it expand rapidly and un- 
equally, and this becomes another cause for the breaking up of 
the vegetable tissue. The same principle is illustrated when we 
turn up the flame of a lamp suddenly. The glass next to the 
flame expands so rapidly that the other parts cannot keep pace, 
and so, as the result of unequal expansion, the chimney goes to 
pieces. With this principle in mind, we seek to withdraw the 
frost and to re-apply the vivifying heat very gradually and equally 
to every part, so that the vegetable tissues may be preserved 
unbroken. This is best done by immersing them in cold water, 
and then keeping them at a low temperature in a shady place. 
As the various parts of the plant resume their functions, the 
light and heat essential to its life and growth can gradually be 
increased.” 

“ It seems to me that your theory is at fault, Webb,” s^iid 
Leonard. “ How is it that some plants are able to endure such 
violent alternations of heat and cold?” 


42 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ We don’t have to go far — at least I do not — before com- 
ing to the limitations of knowledge. What it is in the struc- 
ture of a plant like the pansy, for instance, which makes it so 
much more hardy than others that seem stronger and ? %iore 
vigorous, even the microscope does not reveal. Nature has 
plenty of secrets that she has not yet told. But of all people 
in the world those who obtain their livelihood from the soil 
should seek to learn the wherefore of everything, for such 
knowledge often doubles the prospect of success.” 

“ Now, Amy,” said Burtis, laughing, “ you see what sort of a 
fellow Webb is. You cannot even sneeze without his consider- 
ing the wherefore back to the remotest cause.” 

“Are you afraid of me, Amy?” asked Webb. 

“ No,” was the quiet reply. 

Amy spent the greater part of the day in unpacking her 
trunks, and in getting settled in her home -like room. It soon 
began to take on a familiar air. Hearts, like plants, strike root 
rapidly when the conditions are favorable. Johnnie was her 
delighted assistant much of the time, and this Christmas-day 
was one long thrill of excitement to the child. Her wonder 
grew and grew, for there was a foreign air about many of Amy’s 
things, and, having been brought from such a long distance, 
they seemed to belong to another world. The severe cold con- 
tinued, and only the irrepressible Burtis ventured out to any 
extent. When Alf ’s excitement over his presents began to flag, 
Webb helped him make two box- traps, and the boy concealed 
them in the copse where the rabbit-tracks were thickest. Only 
the biting frost kept him, in his intense eagerness, from remain- 
ing out to see the result. Webb, however, taught him patience 
by assuring him that watched traps never caught game. 

Beyond the natural home festivities the day passed quietly, 
and this was also true of the’ entire holiday season. Cheerful- 
ness, happiness abounded, and there was an unobtrusive effort 
on the part of every one to surround the orphan girl with a 
genial, sunny atmosphere. And yet she was ever made to feel 


NATURE'S HALF-KNOWN SECRETS. 


43 


that her sorrow was remembered and respected. She saw that 
Mr. Clifford’s mind was often busy with the memory of his 
friend, that even Burt declined invitations to country merry- 
makings in the vicinity, and that she was saved the ordeal of 
meeting gay young neighbors with whom the Clifford home was 
a favorite resort. In brief, they had received her as a daughter 
of the house, and in many delicate ways proved that they re- 
garded her as entitled to the same consideration as if she were 
one. Meanwhile she was shown that her presence cast no 
gloom over the family life, and she knew and they knew that it 
would be her father’s wish that she should share in all the heal- 
ing gladness of that life. No true friend who has passed on to 
the unclouded shore would wish to leave clouds and chilling 
shadows as a legacy, and they all felt that in Amy’s case it had 
been her father’s desire and effort to place her under conditions 
that would develop her young life happily and therefore health- 
fully. There is the widest difference in the world between 
cheerfulness and mirthfulness which arise from happy home 
life and peaceful hearts, and the levity that is at once unfeeling, 
inconsiderate, and a sure indication of a coarse-fibred, ill-bred 
nature. Amy was made to feel this, and she found little indeed 
which jarred with memories that were only sad, not bitter or 
essentially depressing. Every day brought new assurance that 
her father’s wishes and hopes in her behalf had been fulfilled 
to a degree that must have added to his heavenly content, 
could he have known how well he had provided for her. And 
so the busy days glided on ; and when the evening brought the 
household together, there were music, reading aloud, and genial 
family talk, which usually was largely colored by their rural 
calling. Therefore, on New-Year’s morning Amy stood as upon 
a sunny eminence, and saw her path leading away amid scenes 
that promised usefulness, happiness, and content. 


44 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


\ 


CHAPTER VII. 

NEIGHBORS DROP IN. 

O NE evening early in the year three neighbors dropped in. 

They were evidently as diverse in character as in appear- 
ance. The eldest was known in the neighborhood as Squire 
Bartley, having long been a justice of the peace. He was a 
large landholder, and carried on his farm in the old-fashioned 
ways, without much regard to system, order, or improvement. 
He had a big, good-natured red face, a stout, burly form, and a 
xorresponding voice. In marked contrast with his aspect and 
past experience was Mr. Alvord, who was thin almost to emaci- 
ation, and upon whose pallid face not only ill-health but deep 
mental suffering had left their unmistakable traces. He was a 
new-comer into the vicinity, and little was known of his past 
history beyond the fact that he had exchanged city life for 
country pursuits in the hope of gaining strength and vigor. 
He ought to have been in the full prime of cheerful manhood, 
but his sombre face and dark, gloomy eyes indicated that some- 
thing had occurred in the past which so deeply shadowed his 
life as to make its long continuance doubtful. He had not 
reached middle age, and yet old Mr. Clifford appeared a heart- 
ier man than he. While he had little knowledge of rural occu- 
pations, he entered into them with eagerness, apparently finding 
them an antidote for sad memories. He had little to say, but 
was a good listener, and evidently found at the Cliffords’ a 
warmth and cheer coming not from the hearth only. Webb and 
Leonard had both been very kind to him in his inexperience, 


NEIGHBORS DROP IN. 


45 


and an occasional evening at their fireside was the only social 
tendency that he had been known to indulge. Dr. Marvin, the 
third visitor, might easily compete with Burt in flow of spirits, 
and in his day had been quite as keen a sportsman. But he 
was unlike Burtis in this, that all birds were game to him, and 
for his purpose were always in season. To Emerson’s line, 

“ Hast thou named all the birds without a gun ? ” 

he could not reply in the affirmative, and yet to kill as many as 
possible had never been his object. From earliest childhood 
he had developed a taste for ornithology, and the study of the 
fauna of the region had been almost his sole recreation for years. 
He too was a frequent visitor at the Cliffords’, where he ever 
found ready listeners and questioners. 

“ I don’t know what is the matter with my poultry,” Squire 
Bartley remarked, after the weather, politics, and harmless 
phases of local gossip had been discussed ; “ they are getting as 
poor as crows. My boys say that they are fed as well as usual. 
What’s more, I’ve had them throw down for ’em a warm mix- 
ture of meal and potatoes before they go to roost, but we don’t 
get an egg. What luck are you having, Leonard? ” 

“ Well, I don’t know that I’m having much luck in the mat- 
ter,” Leonard replied, with his humorous smile ; “ but I can’t 
complain. Until this very cold weather set in we had eggs in 
plenty, and still have a fair supply. I’m inclined to think that 
if your hens are the right kind, and are properly cared for, they 
can’t help producing eggs. That has usually been my experi- 
ence. I don’t believe much in luck, but there are a few simple 
things that are essential to success with poultry in winter. By 
the way, do you give them well or spring water to drink? ” 

“ Well, no, I don’t believe we do, at this time of year. I’ve 
so arranged it that the drippings from the eaves of the barn fall 
into a trough, and that saves trouble. I expect the boys are 
careless, too, for I’ve seen the fowls eating snow and ice.” 


46 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ That accounts for your poultry being like crows, for, what- 
ever the reason may be, snow-water will soon reduce chickens 
to mere feathers and bones.” 

“ You don’t say so ! ” cried the squire. “ Well, I never heard 
that before.” 

“I don’t think your system of feeding is the correct one, 
either,” pursued Leonard. “ You give your hens the warm meal 
to-morrow evening, as usual, and then about midnight go to the 
roosts and feel of their crops. I’ll warrant you’ll find them 
empty. The meal, you see, digests speedily, and is soon all 
gone. Then come the long cold hours before morning, and 
the poor creatures have nothing to sustain them, and they be- 
come chilled and enfeebled. It takes some time for the grain 
you give them in the morning to digest, and so they are left too 
long a time without support. Give them the grain in the even- 
ing — corn and buckwheat and barley mixed — and there is 
something for their gizzards to act on all night long. The birds 
are thus sustained and kept warm by their food. Then in the 
morning, when they naturally feel the cold the most, give them 
the warm food, mixing a little pepper with it during such 
weather as this.” 

“ Well,” remarked the squire, “ I guess you’re right. Anyway, 
I’ll try your plan. One is apt to do things the same way year 
after year without much thought about it.” 

“ Then, again,” resumed Leonard, “ I find it pays to keep 
poultry warm, clean, and well sheltered. In very cold weather 
I let them out only for an hour or two. The rest of the time 
they are shut up in the chicken- house, which has an abundance 
of light, and is well ventilated. Beneath the floor of the 
chicken-house is a cellar, which I can fill with stable manure, 
and graduate the heat by its fermentation. This acts like a 
steady furnace. There is room in the cellar to turn the manure 
from time to time to prevent its becoming fire-fanged, so that 
there is no loss in this respect. Between the heat from beneath, 
and the sun streaming in the windows on the south side of the 


NEIGHBORS DROP IN 


47 


house, I can keep my laying hens warm even in zero weather ; 
and I make it a point not to have too many. Beyond a certain 
number, the more you have the worse you’re off, for poultry 
won’t stand crowding.” 

“ You farmers,” put in Dr. Marvin, “ are like the doctors, who 
kill or cure too much by rule and precedent. You get into 
certain ways or ruts, and stick to them. A little thought and 
observation would often greatly modify your course. Now in 
regard to your poultry, you should remember that they all existed 
once as nature made them — they were wild, and domestication 
cannot wholly change their character. It seems to me that the 
way to learn how to manage fowls successfully is to observe their 
habits and modes of life when left to themselves. In summer, 
when they have a range, we find them eating grass, seeds, insects, 
etc. In short, they are omnivorous. In winter, when they can’t 
get t ese things, they are often fed one or two kinds of grain 
continuously. Now, from their very nature, they need in winter 
all the kinds of food that they instinctively select when foraging 
for themselves — fresh vegetables, meat, and varieties of seeds 
or grain. We give to our chickens all the refuse from the 
kitchen — the varied food we eat ourselves, with the exception 
of that which contains a large percentage of salt — and they 
thrive and lay well. Before they are two years old we decapitate 
them. Old fowls, with rare exceptions, will not lay in winter.” 

Sad-eyed Mr. Alvord listened as if there were more consola- 
tion and cheer in this talk on poultry than in the counsel of 
sages. The “ chicken fever ” is more inevitable in a man’s life 
than the chicken-pox, and sooner or later all who are exposed 
succumb to it. Seeing the interest developing in his neighbor’s 
face, Leonard said, briskly : 

“ Mr. Alvord, here’s an investment that will pay you to con- 
sider. The care of poultry involves light and intelligent labor, 
and therefore is adapted to those who cannot well meet the 
rough and heavy phases of out-door work. The fowls often 
become pets to their keepers, and the individual oddities and 


48 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


peculiarities of character form an amusing study which is not 
wanting in practical advantages. The majority of people keep 
ordinary barn-door fowls, which are the result of many breeds 
or strains. The consequence is almost as great diversity of 
character within gallinaceous limits as exists in the families 
that care for them. For instance, one hen is a good, persistent 
layer ; another is a patient, brooding mother ; a third is fickle, 
and leaves her nest so often and for such long intervals that the 
eggs become chilled, and incubation ceases. Some are tame 
and tractable, others as wild as hawks, and others still are not 
of much account in any direction, and are like commonplace 
women, who are merely good to count when the census is 
taken.” 

“I hope you make no reference to present company,” Maggie 
remarked. 

Leonard gave his wife one of his humorous looks as he re- 
plied, “ I never could admit that in regard to you, for it would 
prove too much against myself. The idea of my picking out a 
commonplace woman ! ” 

“ Leonard knows, as we all do, that he would be like a de- 
capitated chicken himself without her,” said Mrs. Clifford, with 
her low laugh. 

Maggie smiled. This was re-assuring from the mother of the 
eldest and favorite son. 

“ Well,” remarked Squire Bartley, sententiously, “ there are 
old housewives in the neighborhood that have more luck with 
poultry than any of you, with all your science.” 

“ Nonsense,” replied Dr. Marvin. “ You know a little about 
law, squire, and I less about medicine, perhaps, and yet any 
good mother could take care of a lot of children better than 
we could. There is old Mrs. Mulligan, on the creek road. 
She raises ducks, geese, and chickens innumerable, and yet I 
fail to see much luck in her management ; but she has learned 
from experience a better skill than the books could have taught 
-her, for she said to me one day, ‘ I jis thries to foind out what 


NEIGHBORS DROP IN. 49 

the crathers wants, and I gives it to ’em.’ She knows the char- 
acter of every hen, duck, and goose she has, and you don’t 
catch her wasting a sitting of eggs under a fickle biddy. And 
then she watches over her broods as Mrs. Leonard does over 
hers. Don’t talk about luck. There has been more of intelli- 
gent care than luck in bringing up this boy Alf. I believe in 
book- farming as much as any one, but a successful farmer could 
not be made by books only ; nor could I ever learn to be a 
skilful physician from books, although all the horses on your 
place could not haul the medical literature extant. I must 
adopt Mrs. Mulligan’s tactics, and so must you. We must find 
out ‘ what the crathers; want,’ be they plants, stock, or that most 
difficult subject of all, the human crather. He succeeds best 
who does this in season, and not out of season.” 

“You are right, doctor,” said Leonard, laughing. “I agree 
with what you say about the varied diet of poultry in general, 
and also in particular, and I conform my practice to your views. 
At the same time I am convinced that failure and partial suc- 
cess with poultry result more from inadequate shelter and lack 
of cleanliness than from lack of proper food. It does not often 
happen in the country that fowls are restricted to a narrow 
yard or run, and when left to themselves they pick up, even in 
winter, much and varied food in and about the barn. But how 
rarely is proper shelter provided ! It is almost as injurious for 
poultry as it would be for us to be crowded, and subjected to 
draughts, dampness, and cold. They may survive, but they 
can’t thrive and be profitable. In many instances they are not 
even protected from storms, and it’s a waste of grain to feed 
poultry that roost under a dripping roof.” 

“ Well,” said the squire, “ I guess we’ve been rather slack. 
I must send my boys over to see how you manage.” 

“Amy,” remarked Burtis, laughing, “you are very polite. 
You are trying to look as if you were interested.” 

“ I am interested,” said the young girl, positively. “ One of 
the things I liked best in English people was their keen interest 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


50 

in all rural pursuits. Papa did not care much for such things ; 
but now that I am a country girl I intend to learn all I can 
about country life.” 

Amy had not intended this as a politic speech, but it never- 
theless won her the increased good-will of all present. Burtis 
whispered, 

“ Let me be your instructor.” 

Something like a smile softened Webb’s rugged face, but he 
did not raise his eyes from the fire. 

“ If her words are not the result of a passing impulse,” he 
thought, “sooner or later she will come to me. Nature, how- 
ever, tolerates no fitful, half-hearted scholars, and should she 
prove one, she will be contented with Burt’s out-of-door fun.” 

“ Miss Amy,” remarked Dr. Marvin, vivaciously, “ if you will 
form some of my tastes you will never suffer from ennui. 
Don’t be alarmed; I have not drugs in my mind. Doctors 
rarely take their own medicine. You don’t look very strong, 
and have come back to your native land with the characteristics 
of a delicate American girl, rather than the vigor of an English 
one. I fear you slighted British beef and mutton. If I were 
so officious as to prescribe unasked, I should put you on birds 
for several months, morning, noon, and evening. Don’t you be 
officious also, Burt. It’s on the end of your tongue to say that 
you will shoot them for her. I had no such commonplace 
meaning. I meant that Miss Amy should enjoy the birds in 
their native haunts, and learn to distinguish the different vari- 
eties by their notes, plumage, and habits. Such recreation 
would take her often out-of-doors, and fill every spring and 
summer day with zest.” 

“But, Dr. Marvin,” cried Amy, “is not the study of orni- 
thology rather a formidable undertaking? ” 

“ Yes,” was the prompt reply. “ I sometimes feel as if I 
could devote several lifetimes to it. But is it such a formidable 
thing to begin with a few of our commonest birds, like the 
robin or wren, for instance ; to note when they first arrive from 


NEIGHBORS DROP IN. 


5 


their southern sojourn, the comical scenes of courtship and 
rivalry in the trees about the door, the building of their homes, 
and their housekeeping ? Iam sorry to say that I find some of 
my patients consumed with a gossipy interest in their neighbors’ 
affairs. If that interest were transferred to the families residing 
in the cherry and apple trees, to happy little homes that often 
can be watched even from our windows, its exercise would have 
a much better effect on health and character. When a taste 
for such things is once formed, it is astonishing how one thing 
leads to another, and how fast knowledge is gained. The 
birds will soon begin to arrive, Miss Amy, and a goodly number 
stay with us all winter. Pick out a few favorite kinds, and form 
their intimate acquaintance. I would suggest that you learn to 
identify some of the birds that nest near the house, and follow 
their fortunes through the spring and as late in the summer as 
their stay permits, keeping a little diary of your observations. 
Alf here will be a famous ally. You will find these little bird 
histories, as they develop from day to day, more charming than 
a serial story.” 

It were hard to tell who was the more captivated by the 
science of ornithology, Amy or Alf, when this simple and 
agreeable method for its study was suggested. Mr. Alvord 
looked wistfully at the unalloyed pleasure of the boy and the 
young girl as they at once got together on the sofa and dis- 
cussed the project. He quietly remarked to the doctor, “ I 
also shall make time to follow your suggestion, and shall look 
forward to some congenial society without my home if not 
within it.” 

“ See what comes from being enthusiastic about a thing ! ” 
laughed the doctor. “ I have made three converts.” 

Mrs. Leonard looked furtively and pityingly at the lonely Mr. 
Alvord. A man without a wife to take care of him was to her 
one of the forlornest of objects, and with secret satisfaction she 
thought, “ Leonard, I imagine, would find the birds’ house- 
keeping a poor substitute for mine.” 


5 2 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


CHAPTER VIII. 

EAGLES. 

“ O PEAKING of birds, doctor, there are some big fellows 
O around this winter,” said Burtis. “ While in the moun- 
tains with the wood teams some days since I saw a gray and a 
bald eagle sailing around, but could not get a shot at them. 
As soon as it grows milder I am going up to the cliffs on the 
river to see if I can get within rifle range.” 

“ Oh, come, Burt, I thought you were too good a sportsman 
to make such a mistake,” the doctor rejoined. “ A gray eagle 
is merely a young bald eagle. We have only two species of 
the genuine eagle in this country, the bald, or American, and 
the golden, or ring-tailed. The latter is very rare, for their 
majesties are not fond of society, even of their own kind, and 
two nests are seldom found within thirty miles of each other. 
The bald eagle has been common enough, and I have shot 
many. One morning long ago I shot two, and had quite a 
funny experience with one of them.” 

“ Pray tell us about it,” said Burtis, glad of a diversion from 
his ornithological shortcomings. 

“Well, one February morning (I could not have been much 
over fourteen at the time) I crossed the river on the ice, and 
took the train for Peekskill. Having transacted my business 
and procured a good supply of ammunition, I started home- 
ward. From the car windows I saw two eagles circling over 
the cliffs of the lower Highlands, and with the rashness and in- 
experience of a boy I determined to leave the train while it 


EAGLES . 


S3 


was under full headway. I passed through to the rear car, 
descended to the lowest step, and, without realizing my danger, 
watched for a level place that promised well for the mad pro- 
ject. Such a spot soon occurring, I grasped the iron rail 
tightly with my right hand, and with my gun in my left I 
stepped off into the snow, which was wet and slushy. My foot 
bounded up and back as if I had been india-rubber, and main- 
taining my hold I streamed away behind the car in an almost 
horizontal position. About once in every thirty feet my foot 
struck the ground, bounded up and back, and I streamed away 
again as if I were towed or carried through the air. After tak- 
ing a few steps of this character, which exceeded any attributed 
to giants in fairy-lore, I saw I was in for it, and the next time 
my foot struck I let go, and splashed, with a force that I even 
now ache to think of, into the wet snow. It’s a wonder I didn’t 
break my neck, but I scrambled up not very much the worse 
for my tumble. There were the eagles ; my gun was all right, 
and that was all I cared for at the time. I soon loaded, using 
the heaviest shot I had, and in a few moments the great birds 
sailed over my, head. I devoted a barrel to each, and down 
they both came, fluttering, whirling, and uttering cries that 
Wilson describes as something like a maniacal laugh. One 
lodged in the top of a tall hemlock, and stuck ; the other came 
flapping and crashing through another tree until stopped by the 
lower limbs, where it remained. I now saw that their distance 
had been so great that I had merely disabled them, and I began 
reloading, but I was so wild from excitement and exultation 
that I put in the shot first. Of course my caps only snapped, 
and the eagle in the hemlock top, recovering a brief renewal 
of strength after the shock of his wound, flew slowly and heavily 
away, and fell on the ice near the centre of the river. I after- 
wards learned that it was carried off by some people on an ice- 
boat. The other eagle, whose wing I had broken, now reached 
the ground, and I ran towards it, determined that I should not 
lose both of my trophies. As I approached I saw that I had 


54 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


an ugly customer to deal with, for the bird, finding that he 
could not escape, threw himself on his back, with his tail 
doubled under him, and was prepared to strike blows with tal- 
ons and beak that would make serious wounds. I resolved to 
take my game home alive, and after a little thought cut a 
crotched stick, with which I held his head down while I fas- 
tened his feet together. A man who now appeared walking 
down the track aided me in securing the fierce creature, which 
task we accomplished by tying some coarse bagging round his 
wings, body, and talons. I then went on to the nearest station 
in order to take the train homeward. Of course the eagle at- 
tracted a great deal of attention in the cars — more than he 
seemed to enjoy, for he soon grew very restless. I was approach- 
ing my destination, and three or four people were about me, talk- 
ing, pointing, and trying to touch the bird, when he made a sudden 
dive. The bagging round his wings and feet gave way, and so 
did the people on every side. Down through the aisle, flapping 
and screaming, went the eagle ; and the ladies, with skirts 
abridged, stood on the seats and screamed quite as discordantly. 
Not a man present would help me, but, mounting on their seats, 
they vociferated advice. The conductor appeared on the scene, 
and I said that if he would head the bird off I would catch 
him. This he agreed to do, but he no sooner saw the eagle 
bearing down on him with his savage eye and beak than he, as 
nimbly as the best of them, hopped upon a seat, and stood be- 
side a woman, probably for her protection. A minute or two 
later the train stopped at my station, and I was almost desper- 
ate. Fortunately I was in the last car, and I drove my eagle 
towards the rear door, from which, by the vigorous use of my 
feet, l induced him to alight on the ground — the first passenger 
of the kind, I am sure, that ever left the cars at that station. 
After several minor adventures, I succeeded in getting him 
home. I hoped to keep him alive, but he would not eat ; so I 
stuffed him in the only way I could, and he is now one of my 
specimens.” 


EAGLES. 


55 


“ Well,” said Burt, laughing, “ that exceeds any eagle adven- 
ture that I have heard of in this region. In the car business 
you certainly brought his majesty down to the prose of common 
life, and I don’t wonder the regal bird refused to eat thereafter.” 

“ Cannot eagles be tamed — made gentle and friendly? ” old 
Mrs. Clifford asked. “ I think I remember hearing that you 
had a pet eagle years ago.” 

“Yes, I kept one — a female — six months. She was an 
unusually large specimen, and measured about eight feet with 
wings extended. The females of all birds of prey, you know, 
are larger than the males. As in the former case, I had broken 
one of her wings, and she also threw herself on her back and 
made her defence in the most savage manner. Although I 
took every precaution in my power, my hands were bleeding in 
several places before I reached home, and, in fact, she kept 
them in a rather dilapidated condition all the time I had her. 
I placed her in a large empty room connected with the barn, 
and found her ready enough to eat. Indeed, she was voracious, 
and the savage manner in which she tore and swallowed her 
food was not a pleasant spectacle. I bought several hundred 
live carp — a cheap, bony fish — and put them in a ditch where 
I could take them with a net as I wanted them. The eagle 
would spring upon a fish, take one of her long hops into a cor- 
ner, and tear off its head with one stroke of her beak. While 
I was curing her broken wing the creature tolerated me after a 
fashion, but when she was well she grew more and more savage 
and dangerous. Once a Dutchman, who worked for us, came 
in with me, and the way the eagle chased that man around the 
room and out of the door, he swearing meanwhile in high 
German and on a high key, was a sight to remember. I was 
laughing immoderately, when the bird swooped down on my 
shoulder, and the scars would have been there to-day had not 
her talons been dulled by their constant attrition with the boards 
of her extemporized cage. Covering my face with my arm — 
for she could take one’s eye out by a stroke of her beak — I 



56 NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 

also retreated. She then dashed against the window with such 
force that she bent the wood-work and broke every pane of 
glass. She seemed so wild for freedom that I gave it to her, 
but the foolish creature, instead of sailing far away, lingered on 
a bluff near the river, and soon boys and men were out after 
her with shot-guns. I determined that they should not mangle 
her to no purpose, and so, with the aid of my rifle, I added her 
also to my collection of specimens.” 

“Have you ever found one of their nests?” Webb 
asked. 


“Yes. They are rather curious affairs, and are sometimes 
five feet in diameter each way, and quite flat at the top. They 
use for the substratum of the domicile quite respectable cord- 
wood sticks, thicker than one’s wrist. The mother-bird must 
be laying her eggs at this season, cold as it is. But they don’t 
mind the cold, for they nest above the arctic circle.” 

“I don’t see how it is possible for them to protect 
their eggs and young in such severe weather,” Mrs. Clifford 
remarked. 

“ Nature takes care of her own in her own way,” replied the 


EAGLES. 57 

doctor, with a slight shrug. “ One of the birds always remains 
on the nest.” 

“ Well,” said Squire Bartley, who had listened rather impa- 
tiently to so much talk about an unprofitable bird, “ I wish my 
hens were laying now. Seems to me that Nature does bettei 
by eagles and crows than by any fowls I ever had. Good-night, 
friends.” 

With a wistful glance at Amy’s pure young face, and a sigh 
so low that only pitiful Mrs. Leonard heard it, Mr. Alvord also 
bowed himself out in his quiet way. 

“ Doctor,” said Burtis, resolutely, “ you have excited my 
strongest emulation, and I shall never be content until I have 
brought down an eagle or two.” 

“ Dear me ! ” cried the doctor, looking at his watch, “ I 
should think that you would have had enough of eagles, 
and of me also, by this time. Remember, Miss Amy, I pre- 
scribe birds, but don’t watch a bald-eagle’s nest too closely. 
We are not ready to part with your bright eyes any more than 
you are/'’ 


58 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


CHAPTER IX. 

SLEIGHING IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

D URING the night there was a slight fall of snow, and 
Webb explained at the breakfast-table that its descent 
had done more to warm the air than would have been accom- 
plished by the fall of an equal amount of red-hot sand. But 
more potent than the freezing particles of vapor giving off their 
latent heat were the soft south wind and the bright sunshine, 
which seemingly had the warmth of May. 

“ Come, Amy,” said Burtis, exultantly, “ this is no day to 
mope in the house. If you will trust yourself to me and 
Thunder, you shall skim the river there as swiftly as you can 
next summer on the fastest steamer.” 

Amy was too English to be afraid of a horse, and with wraps 
that soon proved burdensome in the increasing warmth of the 
day, she and Burt dashed down the slopes and hill that led to 
the river, and out upon the wide, white plain. She was a little 
nervous as she thought of the fathoms of cold, dark water be- 
neath her; but when she saw the great loads of lumber and 
coal that were passing to and fro on the track she was con- 
vinced that the ice-bridge was safe, and she gave herself up to 
the unalloyed enjoyment of the grand scenery. First they 
crossed Newburgh Bay, with the city rising steeply on one side, 
and the Beacon Mountains farther away on the other. The 
snow covered the ice unbrokenly, except as tracks crossed here 
and there to various points. Large flocks of crows were feed- 
ing on these extemporized roadways, and they looked blacker 


SLEIGHING IN THE HIGHLANDS. 


59 


than crows in the general whiteness. As the sleigh glided here 
and there it was hard for Amy to believe that they were in the 
track of steamers and innumerable sail-boats, and that the dis- 
tant shores did not slope down to a level plain, on which the 
grass and grain would wave in the coming June ; but when Burt 
turned southward and drove under the great beetling mountains, 
and told her that their granite feet were over a hundred yards 
deep in the water, she understood the marvellous engineering 
of the frost-spirit that had spanned the river, where the tides 
are so swift, and had so strengthened it in a few short days and 
nights that it could bear enormous burdens. 

Never before had she seen such grand and impressive 
scenery. They could drive within a few feet of the base of 
Storm King and Cro’ Nest ; and the great precipices and rocky 
ledges, from which often hung long, glittering icicles, seemed 
tenfold more vast than when seen from a distance. The fur- 
rowed granite cliffs, surmounted by snow, looked like giant 
faces, lined and wrinkled by age and passion. Even the bright 
sunshine could do little to soften their frowning grandeur. 
Amy’s face became more and more serious as the majesty of 
the landscape impressed her, and she grew silent under Burtis’s 
light talk. At last she said : 

“ How transient and insignificant one feels among these 
mountains ! ' They could not have looked very different on the 
morning when Adam first saw Eve.” 

“ They are indeed superb,” replied Burt, “ and I am glad my 
home — our home — is among them ; and yet I am sure that 
Adam would have found Eve more attractive than all the 
mountains in the world, just as I find your face, flushed by the 
morning air, far more interesting than these hills that I have 
known and loved so long.” 

“ My face is a novelty, brother Burt,” she answered, with 
deepening color, for the young fellow’s frequent glances of 
admiration were slightly embarrassing. 

(< Strange to say, it is growing so familiar that I seem to have 


6o 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


known you all my life,” he responded, with a touch of tender- 
ness in his tone. 

“That is because I am your sister,” she said,. quietly. “ Both 
the word and the relation suggest the idea that we have grown 
up together,” and then she changed the subject so decidedly 
that even impetuous Burt felt that he must be more prudent in 
expressing the interest which daily grew stronger. As they were 
skirting Constitution Island Amy exclaimed : 

“ What a quaint old house ! Who lives there all alone? ” 

“ Some one that you know about, I imagine. Have you ever 
read ‘ The Wide, Wide World ’ ? ” 

“ What girl has not ? 

“Well, Miss Warner, the author of the book, resides there. 
The place has an historical interest also. Do you see those old 
walls? They were built over one hundred years ago. At the 
beginning of the Revolution the Continental authorities were 
stupid enough to spend considerable money, for that period, in 
the building of a fort on those rocks. Any one might have 
seen that the higher ground opposite, at West Point, com- 
manded the position.” 

“ No matter about the fort. Tell me of Miss Warner.” 

“Well, she and her sister spend their summers there, and are 
ever busy writing, I believe. I’ll row you down in the spring 
after they return. They are not there in winter, I am told. I 
have no doubt that she will receive you kindly, and tell you all 
about herself.” 

“ I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, and I don’t 
believe she will resent a very brief call from one who longs to 
see her and speak with her. I am not curious about celebrities 
in general, but there are some writers whose words have touched 
my heart, and whom I would like to see and thank. Where 
are you going now?” 

“ I am going to show you West Point in its winter aspect. 
You will find it a charming place to visit occasionally, only you 
must not go so often as to catch the cadet fever T 


SLEIGHING IN THE HIGHLANDS. 6 1 

“ Pray what is that? ” 

“ It is an acute attack of admiration for very young men of 
a military cut. I use the word cut advisedly, for these incipient 
soldiers look for all the world as if carved out of wood. They 
gradually get over their stiffness, however, and as officers usually 
have a fine bearing, as you may see if we meet any of them. 
I wish, though, that you could see a squad of ‘ plebes ’ drilling. 
They would provoke a grin on the face of old Melancholy him- 
self.” 

“ Where is the danger, then, of acute admiration?” 

“Well, they improve, I suppose, and are said to be quite 
irresistible during the latter part of their course. You need 
not laugh. If you knew how many women — some of them 
old enough to be the boys’ mothers — had succumbed, you 
would take my warning to heart.” 

“ What nonsense ! You are a little jealous of them, Burt.” 

“ I should be indeed if you took a fancy to any of them.” 

“Well, I suppose that is one of the penalties of having 
brothers. Are all these houses officers’ quarters ? ” 

They had now left the ice, and were climbing the hill as he 
replied : 

“No, indeed. This is Logtown — so named, I suppose, be- 
cause in the earlier days of the post log huts preceded these 
small wooden houses. They are chiefly occupied by enlisted 
men and civilian employees. That large building is the band 
barracks. The officers’ quarters, with a few exceptions, are 
just above the brow of the hill west and south of the 
plain.” 

In a few moments Amy saw the wide parade and drill ground, 
now covered with untrodden snow. 

“What a strange formation of land, right in among the 
mountains ! ” she said. 

“ Yes,” replied her companion. “ Nature could not have 
designed a better place for a military school. It is very acces- 
sible, yet easily guarded, and the latter is an important pointy 


62 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


for some of the cadets are very wild, and disposed towards 
larks.” 

“ I imagine that they are like other young fellows. Were 
you a saint at college ? ” 

“ How can you think otherwise? There, just opposite to us, 
out on the plain, the evening parade takes place after the spring 
fairly opens. I shall bring you down to see it, and ’tis a pretty 
sight. The music also is fine. Oh, I shall be magnanimous, 
and procure you some introductions if you wish.” 

“ Thank you. That will be the best policy. These substan- 
tial buildings on our right are the officers’ quarters, I suppose? ” 

“ Yes. That is the commandant’s, and the one beyond it is 
the superintendent’s. They are both usually officers of high 
rank, who have made an honorable record for themselves. The 
latter has entire charge of the post, and the position is a very 
responsible one ; nor is it by any means a sinecure, for when 
the papers have nothing else to find fault with they pick at 
West Point.” 

“I should think the social life here would be very pleasant.” 

“ It is, in many respects. Army ties beget a sort of com- 
radeship which extends to the officers’ wives. Frequent re- 
moval from one part of the country to another prevents 
anything like vegetating. The ladies, I am told, do not be- 
come overmuch engrossed in housekeeping, and acquire some- 
thing of a soldier’s knack of doing without many things which 
would naturally occupy their time and thought if they looked 
forward to a settled life. Thus they have more time for read- 
ing and society. Those that I have met have certainly been 
very bright and companionable, and many who in girlhood were 
accustomed to city luxury can tell some strange stories of their 
frontier life. There is one army custom which often bears 
pretty hard. Can you imagine yourself an officer’s wife ? ” 

“ I’ll try, if it will be of help to you.” 

“Then suppose you were nicely settled in one of those 
houses, your furniture arranged, carpets down, etc. Some 


SLEIGHING IN THE HIGHLANDS. 


63 


morning you learn that an officer outranking your husband has 
been ordered here on duty. His first step may be to take pos- 
session of your house. Quarters are assigned in accordance 
with rank, and you would be compelled to gather up your 
household gods and take them to some smaller dwelling. Then 
your husband — how droll the word sounds ! — could compel 
some other officer, whom he outranked, to move. It would 
seem that the thing might go on indefinitely, and the com- 
ing of a new officer produce a regular 1st of May state of 
affairs.” 

“ I perceive that you are slyly providing an antidote against 
the cadet fever. What large building is this?” 

“ The cadet barracks. There are over two hundred young 
fellows in the building. They have to study, I can tell you, 
nor can they slip through here as some of us did at college. 
All must abide the remorseless examinations, and many drop 
out. There goes a squad to the riding hall. Would you like 
to see the drill and sabre practice ? ” 

Amy assenting, they soon reached the balcony overlooking 
the arena, and spent an amused half-hour. The horses were 
rather gay, and some were vicious, while the young girl’s eyes 
seemed to have an inspiriting effect upon the riders. Alto- 
gether the scene was a lively one, and at times exciting. Burt 
then drove southward almost to Fort Montgomery, and return- 
~ ing skirted the West Point plain by the river road, pointing out 
objects of interest at almost every turn, and especially calling 
the attention of his companion to old Fort Putnam, which he 
assured her should be the scene of a family picnic on some 
bright summer day. Amy’s wonder and delight scarcely knew 
bounds when from the north side of the plain she saw for the 
first time the wonderful gorge through which the river flows 
southward from Newburgh Bay — Mount Taurus and Breakneck 
on one side, and Cro’ Nest and Storm King on the other. 
With a deep sigh of content she said, 

“I’m grateful that my home is in such a region as this.” 


64 


NA TURE 'S SERIAL STOR V. 


“ I’m grateful too,” the young fellow replied, looking at her 
and not at the scenery. 

But she was too pre-occupied to give him much attention, 
and in less than half an hour Thunder’s fleet steps carried 
them through what seemed a realm of enchantment, and they 
were at home. “ Burt,” she said, warmly, “ I never had such 
a drive before. I have enjoyed every moment.” 

“ Ditto, ditto,” he cried, merrily, as the horse dashed off 
with him towards the barn. 


4 WINTER THUNDER-STORM. 


6,5 


CHAPTER X. 


A WINTER THUNDER-STORM. 



‘YEN before the return of Burtis and Amy the sun had 


I j been obscured by a fast-thickening haze, and while the 
family was at dinner the wind began to moan and sigh around 
the house in a way that foretold a storm. 

“ I fear we shall lose our sleighing,” old Mr. Clifford re- 
marked, “ for all the indications now point to a warm rain.” 

His prediction was correct. Great masses of vapor soon 
came pouring over Storm King, and the sky grew blacker every 
moment. The wind blew in strong, fitful gusts, and yet the air 
was almost sultry. By four o’clock the rain began to dash with 
almost the violence of a summer shower against the window- 
panes of Mr. and Mrs. Clifford’s sitting-room, and it grew so 
dark that Amy could scarcely see to read the paper to the old 
gentleman. Suddenly she was startled by a flash, and she 
looked up inquiringly for an explanation. 

“ You did not expect to see a thunder-storm almost in mid- 
winter?” said Mr. Clifford, with a smile. “This unusual 
sultriness is producing unseasonable results.” 

“Is not a thunder-storm at this season very rare ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes ; and yet some of the sharpest lightning I have ever 
seen has occurred in winter.” 

A heavy rumble in the southwest was now heard, and the 
interval between the flash and the report indicated that the 
storm centre was still distant. “ I would advise you to go up 
to Maggie’s room/’ resumed Mr. Clifford, “ for from her sotith 


66 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


and west windows you may witness a scene that you will not 
soon forget. You are not afraid, are you? ” 

“ No, not unless there is danger,” she replied, hesitatingly. 

“ I have never been struck by lightning,” the old man re- 
marked, with a smile, “and I have passed through many 
storms. Come, I’ll go with you. I never tire of watching the 
effects down among the mountains.” 

They found Mrs. Leonard placidly sewing, with Johnnie and 
Ned playing about the room. “ You, evidently, are not afraid,” 
said Amy. 

“Oh no ! ” she replied. “ I have more faith in the presence 
of little children than in the protection of lightning-rods. Yes, 
you may come in,” she said to Webb, who stood at the door. 
“ I suppose you think my sense of security has a very unscien- 
tific basis?” 

“ There are certain phases of credulity that I would not dis- 
turb for the world,” he answered ; “ and who knows but you 
are right? What’s more, your faith is infectious; for, whatever 
reason might tell me, I should still feel safer in a wild storm 
with the present company around me. Don’t you think it odd, 
Amy, that what we may term natural feeling gets the better of 
the logic of the head ? If that approaching storm should pass 
directly over us, with thickly flying bolts, would you not feel 
safer here ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Webb laughed in his low, peculiar way, and murmured, 
“ What children an accurate scientist would call us ! ” 

“ In respect to some things I never wish to grow up,” she 
replied. 

“ I believe I can echo that wish. The outlook is growing 
fine, isn’t it? ” 

The whole sky, which in the morning had smiled so brightly 
in undimmed sunshine, was now black with clouds. These 
hung so low that the house seemed the centre of a narrow and 
almost opaque horizon. The room soon darkened with the 


A WINTER THUNDER-STORM. 


6 / 


gloom of twilight, and the faces of the inmates faded into 
shadowy outlines. The mountains, half wrapped in vapor, 
loomed vast and indefinite in the obscurity. Every moment 
the storm grew nearer, and its centre was marked by an omi- 
nous blackness which the momentary flashes left all the more 
intense. The young girl grew deeply absorbed in the scene, 
and to Webb the strong, pure profile of her awed face, as the 
increasingly vivid flashes revealed it, was far more attractive 
than the landscape without, which was passing with swift alter- 
nations from ghastly gloom to even more ghastly pallor. He 
looked at her; the rest looked at the storm, the children 
gathering like chickens under the mother’s wing. 

At last there came a flash that startled them all. The moun- 
tains leaped out of the darkness like great sheeted spectres, and 
though seen but a second, they made so strong an impression 
that they seemed to have left their solid bases and to be ap- 
proaching in the gloom. Then came a magnificent peal that 
swept across the whole southern arch of the sky. The rever- 
berations among the hills were deep, long, and grand, and the 
fainter echoes had not died away before there was another 
flash — another thunderous report, which, though less loud 
than the one that preceded it, maintained the symphony with 
scarcely diminished grandeur. 

“ This is our Highland music, Amy,” Webb remarked, as soon 
as he could be heard. “ It has begun early this season, but you 
will hear much of it before the year is out.” 

“ It is rather too sublime for my taste,” replied the young 
girl, shrinking closer to Mr. Clifford’s side. 

“ You are safe, my child,” said the old man, encircling her 
with his arm. 

“ Let me also re-assure you in my prosaic way,” Webb con- 
tinued. “ There, do you not observe that though this last flash 
seemed scarcely less vivid, the report followed more tardily, in- 
dicating that the storm centre is already well to the south and 
east of us? The next explosion will take place over the moun- 


68 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


tains beyond the river. You may now watch the scene in seei>- 
rity, for the heavenly artillery is pointed away from you.” 

“ Thank you. I must admit that your prose is both re-assuring, 
and inspiring. How one appreciates shelter and home on such 
a night as this ! Hear the rain splash against the window ! 



A WINTER THUNDER-STORM. 


Every moment the air seems filled with innumerable gems as the 
intense light pierces them. Think of being out alone on the 
river, or up there among the hills, while Nature is in such an 
awful mood ! — the snow, the slush, everything dripping, the 
rain rushing down like a cataract, and thunder-bolts playing 
over one’s head. In contrast, look around this home-like room. 


A WINTER THUNDER-STORM. 69 

Dear old father’s serene face ” — for Mr. Clifford had already 
taught her to call him father — “ makes the Divine Fatherhood 
seem more real. Innocent little Ned here does indeed seem a 
better protection than a lightning-rod, while Johnnie, putting 
her doll to sleep in the corner, is almost absolute assurance of 
safety. Your science is all very well, Webb, but the heart de- 
mands something as well as the head. Oh, I wish all the world 
had such shelter as I have to-night ! ” 

It was not often that Amy spoke so freely and impulsively. 
Like many with delicate organizations, she was excited by the 
electrical condition of the air. The pallor of awe had given 
place to a joyous flush, and her eyes were brilliant. 

“ Sister Amy,” said Webb, as they went down to supper, “ you 
must be careful of yourself, and others must be careful of you, 
for you have not much vis inertia. Some outside influences 
might touch you, as I would touch your piano, and make sad 
discord.” 

“ Should I feel very guilty because I have not more of that 
substantial quality which can only find adequate expression in 
Latin ? ” she asked, with a humorous glance. 

“ Oh no ! At least not in my opinion. I much prefer a 
woman in whom the spirit is pre-eminent over the clay. We 
are all made of dust, you know, and we men, I fear, often smack 
of the soil too strongly; therefore we are best pleased with 
contrasts. Moreover, our country life will brace you without 
blunting your nature. I should be sorry for you, though, if you 
were friendless, and had to face the world alone.” 

“ That can scarcely happen now,” she said, with a grateful 
glance. 

During the early part of the evening they all became ab- 
sorbed in a story, which Webb read aloud. At last Mr. Clifford 
rose, drew aside the curtains, and looked out. “ Come here, 
Amy,” he said. “ Look where the storm thundered a few hours 
since ! ” 

The sky was cloudless, the winds were hushed, the stars 


70 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


shining, and the mountains stood out gray and serene in the 
light of the rising moon. 

“ See, my child, the storm has passed utterly away, and every- 
thing speaks of peace and rest. In my long life I have had 
experiences which at the time seemed as dark and threatening 
as the storm that awed you in the early evening, but they passed 
also, and a quiet like that which reigns without followed. Put 
the lesson away in your heart, my dear; but may it be long 
before you have occasion for its use ! Good-night.” 


NATURE UNDER GLASS. 


71 


CHAPTER XI, 


NATURE UNDER GLASS. 



HE next morning Amy asked Mrs. Clifford to initiate her 


X more fully into the mysteries of her flowers, promising 
under her direction to assume their care in part. The old lady 
welcomed her assistance cordially, and said, “You could not 
take your lesson on a more auspicious occasion, for Webb has 
promised to aid me in giving my pets a bath to-day, and he 
can explain many things better than I can.” 

Webb certainly did not appear averse to the arrangement, and 
all three were soon busy in the flower-room. “ You see,” re- 
sumed Mrs. Clifford, “ I use the old-fashioned yellow pots. I 
long ago gave up all the glazed, ornamental affairs with which 
novices are tempted, learning from experience that they are a 
delusion and a snare. Webb has since made it clear to me that 
the roots need a circulation of air and a free exhalation of 
moisture as truly as the leaves, and that since glazed pots do 
not permit this, they should never be employed. After all, 
there is nothing neater than these common yellow porous pots. 
I always select the yellowest ones, for they are the most porous. 
Those that are red are hard-baked, and are almost as bad as 
the glazed abominations, which once cost me some of my 
choice favorites.” 

“ I agree with you. The glazed pots are too artificial to be 
associated with flowers. They suggest veneer, and I don’t like 
veneer,” Amy replied. Then she asked Webb : “ Are you ready 
for a fire of questions ? Any one with your ability should be 
able to talk and work at the same time.” 


72 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ Yes ; and I did not require that little diplomatic pat on the 
back.” 

“ I’ll be as direct and severe as an inquisitor, then. Why do 
you syringe and wash the foliage of the plants? Why will not 
simple watering of the earth in the pots answer?” 

“ We wash the foliage in order that the plants may breathe 
and digest their food.” 

“ How lucid ! ” said Amy, with laughing irony. “ Then,” 
she added, “ please take nothing for granted except my igno- 
rance in these matters. I don’t know anything about plants 
except in the most general way.” 

“ Give me time, and I think I can make some things clear. 
A plant breathes as truly as you do, only unlike yourself it has 
indefinite thousands of mouths. There is one leaf on which 
there are over one hundred and fifty thousand. They are called 
stomata , or breathing-pores, and are on both sides of the leaf 
in most plants, but usually are in far greater abundance on the 
lower side. The plant draws ? its food from the air and soil — 
from the latter in liquid form — and this substance must be 
concentrated and assimilated. These little pores introduce the 
vital atmosphere through the air-passages of the plant, which 
correspond in a certain sense to the throat and lungs of an ani- 
mal. You would be sadly off if you couldn’t breathe ; these 
plants would fare no better. Therefore we must do artificially 
what the rain does out-of-doors — wash away the accumulated 
dust, so that respiration may be unimpeded. Moreover, these 
little pores, which are shaped like the semi-elliptical springs of 
a Carriage, are self-acting valves. A plant exhales a great deal 
of moisture in invisible vapor. A sunflower has been known to 
give off three pounds of water in twenty-four hours. This does 
no harm, unless the moisture escapes faster than it rises from 
the roots, in which case the plant wilts, and may even die. In 
such emergencies these little stomata, or mouths, shut up partly 
or completely, and so do much to check the exhalation. When 

moisture is given to the roots, these mouths open again, and if 

* 


NATURE UNDER GLASS . 


73 

our eyes were fine enough we should see the vapor passing 
out.” 

“ I never appreciated the fact before that plants are so thor- 
oughly alive.” 

“ Indeed, they are alive, and therefore they need the intelli- 
gent care required by all living creatures which we have re- 
moved from their natural conditions. Nature takes care of her 
children when they are where she placed them. In a case like 
this, wherein we are preserving plants that need summer warmth 
through a winter cold, we must learn to supply her place, and 
as far as possible adopt her methods. It is just because multi- 
tudes do not understand her ways that so many house plants 
are in a half-dying condition.” 

“ Now, Amy, I will teach you how to water the pots,” Mrs. 
Clifford began. “ The water, you see, has been standing in the 
flower-room all night, so as to raise its temperature. That drawn 
directly from the well would be much too cold, and even as it is 
I shall add some warm water to take the chill off. The roots 
are very sensitive to a sudden chill from too cold water. No, 
don’t pour it into the pots from that pitcher. The rain does 
not fall so, and, as Webb says, we must imitate nature. This 
watering-pot with a fine rose will enable you to sprinkle them 
slowly, and the soil can absorb the moisture naturally and 
equally. Most plants need water much as we take our food, 
regularly, often, and not too much at a time. Let this surface 
soil in the pots be your guide. It should never be perfectly 
dry, and still less should it be sodden with moisture ; nor should 
moisture ever stand in the saucers under the pots, unless the 
plants are semi-aquatic, like this calla-lily. You will gradually 
learn to treat each plant or family of plants according to its 
nature. The amount of water which that calla requires would 
kill this heath, and the quantity needed by the heath would be 
the death of that cactus over there.” 

“ Oh dear ! ” cried Amy, “ if I were left alone in the care of 
your flower-room, I should out-Herod Herod in the slaughter 
of the innocents.” 


74 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ You will not be left alone, and you will be surprised to find 
bow quickly the pretty mystery of life and growth will begin to 
reveal itself to you.” 

As the days passed, Amy became more and more absorbed 
in the genial family life of the Cliffords. She especially at- 
tached herself to the old people, and Mr. and Mrs. Clifford 
were fast learning that their kindness to the orphan was des- 
tined to receive an exceeding rich reward. Her young eyes 
supplemented theirs, which were fast growing dim ; and even 
platitudes read in her sweet girlish voice seemed to acquire point 
and interest. She soon learned to glean from the papers and 
periodicals that which each cared for, and to skip the rest. She 
discovered in the library a well- written book on travel in the 
tropics, and soon had them absorbed in its pages, the descrip- 
tions being much enhanced in interest by contrast with the 
winter landscape outside. Mrs. Clifford had several volumes 
on the culture of flowers, and under her guidance and that of 
Webb she began to prepare for the practical out-door work of 
spring with great zest. In the meantime she was assiduous in 
the care of the house plants, and read all she could find in regard 
to the species and varieties represented in the little flower-room. 
It became a source of genuine amusement to start with a famil- 
iar house plant and trace out all its botanical relatives'/with 
their exceedingly varied character and yet essential consanguin- 
ity; and she drew others, even Alf and little Johnnie, into this 
unhackneyed pursuit of knowledge. 

“ These plant families,” she said one day, “ are as curiously 
diverse as human families. Group them together and you can 
see plainly that they belong to one another, and yet they differ 
so widely.” 

“As widely as Webb and I,” put in Burt. 

“ Thanks for so apt an illustration.” 

“ Burt is what you would call a rampant grower, running 
more to wood and foliage than anything else,” Leonard re- 
marked. 


; s 


NATURE UNDER GLASS. 

“ I didn’t say that,” said Amy. “ Moreover, I learned from 
my reading that many of the strong-growing plants become in 
maturity the most productive of flowers or fruit.” 

“ How young I must seem to you ! ” Burt remarked. 

“Well, don’t be discouraged. It’s a fault that will mend 
every day,” she replied, with a smile that was so arch and genial 
that he mentally assured himself that he never would be dis- 
heartened in his growing purpose to make Amy more than a 
sister. 


;6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


CHAPTER XII. 


a mountaineer’s hovel. 


O NE winter noon Leonard returned from his superintend- 
ence of the wood-cutting in the mountains. At the din- 
ner-table he remarked : “ I have heard to-day that the Lumley 
family are in great destitution, as usual. It is useless to help 
them, and yet one cannot sit down to a dinner like this in com- 
fort while even the Lumleys are hungry.” 

“ Hunger is their one good trait,” said Webb. “ Under its 
incentive they contribute the smallest amount possible to the 
world’s work.” 

“ I shouldn’t mind,” resumed Leonard, “ if Lumley and his 
wife were pinched sharply. Indeed, it would give me solid 
satisfaction had I the power to make those people work steadily 
for a year, although they would regard it as the worst species of 
cruelty. They have a child, however, I am told, and for its 
sake I must go and see after them. Come with me, Amy, and 
I promise that you will be quite contented when you return 
home.” 

It was rather late in the afternoon when the busy Leonard 
appeared at the door in his strong one-horse sleigh with it 
movable seat, and Amy found that he had provided an ample 
store of vegetables, flour, etc. She started upon the expedition 
with genuine zest, to which every mile of 1 progress added. 

The clouded sky permitted only a cold gray light, in which 
everything stood out with wonderful distinctness. Even the 
dried weeds with their shrivelled seed-vessels were sharply de- 


A MOUNTAINEER'S HOVEL. 


77 


fined against the snow. The beech leaves which still clung to 
the trees were bleached and white, but the foliage on the lower 
branches of the oaks was almost black against the hillside. 
Not a breath of air rustled them. At times Leonard would 
stop his horse, and when the jingle of the sleigh-bells ceased 
the silence was profound. Every vestige of life had disappeared 
in the still woods, or was hidden by the snow. 

“ How lonely and dreary it all looks ! ” said Amy, with a 
sigh. 

“ That is why I like to look at a scene like this,” Leonard 
replied. “ When I get home I see it all again — all its cold 
desolation — and it makes Maggie’s room, with her and the 
children around me, seem like heaven.” 

But oh, the contrast to Maggie’s room that Amy looked upon 
after a ride over a wood-road so rough that even the deep snow 
could not relieve its rugged inequalities ! A dim glow of fire- 
light shone through the frosted window-panes of a miserable 
dwelling, as they emerged in the twilight from the narrow track 
in the growing timber. In response to a rap on the door, a 
gruff, thick voice said, “ Come in.” 

Leonard, with a heavy basket on his arm, entered, followed 
closely by Amy, who, in her surprise, looked with undisguised 
wonder at the scene before her. Never had she even imagined 
such a home. Indeed, it seemed like profanation of the word 
to call the bare, uncleanly room by that sweetest of English 
words. It contained not a home-like feature. Her eyes were 
not resting on decent poverty, but upon uncouth, repulsive 
want ; and this awful impoverishment was not seen in the few 
articles of cheap, dilapidated furniture so clearly as in the dull, 
sodden faces of the man and woman who kennelled there. No 
trace of manhood or womanhood was visible — and no animal 
is so repulsive as a man or woman imbruted. 

The man rose unsteadily to his feet and said : “ Evenin’, Mr. 
Clifford. Will yer take a cheer? ” 

The woman had not the grace or the power to acknowledge 


78 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


their presence, but after staring stolidly for a moment or two at 
her visitors through her dishevelled hair, turned and cowered 
over the hearth again, her elfish locks falling forward and hiding 
her face. 

The wretched smoky fire they maintained was the final 
triumph and revelation of their utter shiftlessness. With square 
miles of woodland all about them, they had prepared no billets 
of suitable size. The man had merely cut down two small 
trees, lopped off their branches, and dragged them into the 
room. Their butt-ends were placed together on the hearth, 
whence the logs stretched like the legs of a compass to the two 
farther corners of the room. Amy, in the uncertain light, had 
nearly stumbled over one of them. As the logs burned away 
they were shoved together on the hearth from time to time, the 
woman mechanically throwing on dry sticks from a pile near 
her when the green wood ceased to blaze. Both man and 
woman were partially intoxicated, and the latter was so stupe- 
fied as to be indifferent to the presence of strangers. While 
Leonard was seeking to obtain from the man some intelligible 
account of their condition, and bringing in his gifts, Amy gazed 
around, with her fair young face full of horror and disgust. 
Then her attention was arrested by a feeble cry from a cradle 
in a dusky corner beyond the woman, and to the girl’s heart it 
was indeed a cry of distress, all the more pathetic because of 
the child’s helplessness, and unconsciousness of the wretched 
life to which it seemed inevitably destined. 

She stepped to the cradle’s side, and saw a pallid little crea- 
ture, puny and feeble from neglect. Its mother paid no atten- 
tion to its wailing, and when Amy asked if she might take it 
up, the woman’s mumbled reply was unintelligible. 

After hesitating a moment Amy lifted the child, and found ; 
scarcely more than a little skeleton. Sitting down on the only 
chair in the room, which the man had vacated — the woman 
crouched on an inverted box — Amy said, “ Leonard, please 
bring me the milk we brought.” 


A MOUNTAINEER'S HOVEL. 


79 


After it had been warmed a little the child drank it with 
avidity. Leonard stood in the background and sadly shook his 
head as he watched the scene, the fire-light flickering on Amy’s 
pure profile and tear-dimmed eye as she watched the starved 
babe taking from her hand the food that the brutish mother on 
the opposite side of the hearth was incapable of giving it. 

He never forgot that picture — the girl’s face beautiful with 
a divine compassion, the mother’s large sensual features half 
hidden by her snaky locks as she leaned stupidly over the fire, 
the dusky flickering shadows that filled the room, in which the 
mountaineer’s head loomed like that of a shaggy beast. Even 
his rude nature was impressed, and he exclaimed, 

“ Gad ! the likes of that was never seen in these parts 
afore f’ 

“ Oh, sir,” cried Amy, turning to him, “ can you not see that 
your little child is hungry?” 

“ Well, the woman, she’s drunk, and s’pose I be too, 

somewhat.” 

“ Com.e, Lumley, be more civil,” said Leonard. “ The young 
lady isn’t used to such talk.” 

“ Oh, it all seems so dreadful ! ” exclaimed Amy, her tears 
falling faster. 

The man drew a step or two nearer, and looked at her won- 
deringly ; then, stretching out his great grimy hand, he said : 
“ I s’pose you think I hain’t no feelings, miss, but I have. I’ll 
take keer on the young un, and I won’t tech another drop 
to-night. Thar’s my hand on it.” 

To Leonard’s surprise, Amy took the hand, as she said, “ I 
believe you will keep your word.” 

“That’s right, Lumley,” added Leonard, heartily. “Now 
you are acting like a man. I’ve brought you a fair lot of 
things, but they are in trade. In exchange for them I want the 
jug of liquor you brought up from the village to-day.” 

The man hesitated, and looked at his wife. 

“ Come, Lumley, you’ve begun well. Put temptation out of 


8o 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


the way. For your wife and baby’s sake, as well as your own, 
give me the jug. You mean well, but you know your failing.” 

“ Well, Mr. Clifford,” said the man, going to a cupboard, “ I 
guess it’ll be safer. But you don’t want the darned stuff,” and 
he opened the door and dashed the vessel against an adjacent 
bowlder. 

“ That’s better still. Now brace up, get your axe and cut 
some wood in a civilized way. We’re going to have a cold 
night. You can’t keep up a fire with this shiftless contrivance,” 
indicating with his foot one of the logs lying along the floor. 
“ As soon as you get things straightened up here a little we’ll 
give you work. The young lady has found out that you have 
the making of a man in you yet. If she’ll take your word for 
your conduct to-night, she also will for the future.” 

“Yes,” added Amy, “if you will try to do better, we will all 
try to help you. I shall come and see the baby again. Oh, 
Leonard,” she added, as she placed the child in its cradle, 
“ can’t we leave one of the blankets from the sleigh ? See, the 
baby has scarcely any covering.” 

“But you may be cold.” 

“ No ; lam dressed warmly. Oh ! seel see ! the little dar- 
ling is smiling up at me ! Leonard, please do. I’d rather be 
cold.” 

“ Bless your good heart, miss ! ” said the man, more touched 
than ever. “ Never had any sich wisitors afore.” 

When Amy had tucked the child in warm he followed her 
and Leonard to the sleigh and said, “ Good-by, miss ; I’m 
a-going to work like a man, and there’s my hand on it agin.” 

Going to work was Lumley’s loftiest idea of reformation, and 
many others would find it a very good beginning. As they 
drove away they heard the ring of his axe, and it had a hopeful 
sound. 

For a time Leonard was closely occupied with the intricacies 
of the road, and when at last he turned and looked at Amy, 
she was crying. 


A MOUNTAINEER'S HOVEL . 


8 1 


“ There, don’t take it so to heart,” he said, soothingly. 

“ Oh, Leonard, I never saw anything like it before. That 
poor little baby’s smile went right to my heart. And to think 
of its awful mother ! ” 

They paused on an eminence and looked back on the dim 
outline of the hovel. Then Leonard drew her close to him as 
he said, “Don’t cry any more. You have acted like a true 
little woman — just as Maggie would have done — and good 
may come of it, although they’ll always be Lumleys. As Webb 
says, it would require several generations to bring them up. 
Haven’t I given you a good lesson in contentment?” 

“ Yes ; but I did not need one. I’m glad I went, however, but 
feel that I cannot rest until there is a real change for the better.” 

“Well, who knows? You may bring it about.” 

The supper-table was waiting for them when they returned. 
The gleam of the crystal and silver, the ruddy glow from the 
open stove, the more genial light of every eye that turned to 
welcome them, formed a delightful counter- picture to the one 
they had just looked upon, and Leonard beamed with immeas- 
urable satisfaction. To Amy the contrast was almost too sharp, 
and she could not dismiss from her thoughts the miserable 
dwelling in the mountains. 

Leonard’s buoyant, genial nature had been impressed, but 
not depressed, by the scene he had witnessed. Modes of life 
in the mountains were familiar to him, and with the conscious- 
ness of having done a kind deed from which further good might 
result, he was in a mood to speak freely of the Lumleys, and 
the story of their experience was soon drawn from him. Im- 
pulsive, warm-hearted Burt was outspoken in his admiration of 
Amy’s part in the visit of charity, but Webb’s intent look drew 
her eyes to him, and with a strange little thrill at her heart she 
saw that he had interpreted her motives and feelings. 

“I will take you there again, Amy,” was all he said, but for 
some reason she dwelt upon the • tone in which he spoke more 
than upon all the uttered words of the others. 


82 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Later in the evening he joined her in the sitting-room, which, 
for the moment, was deserted by the others, and she spoke of 
the wintry gloom of the mountains, and how Leonard was fond 
of making the forbidding aspect a foil for Maggie’s room. 
Webb smiled as he replied : 

“ That is just like Len. Maggie’s room is the centre of his 
world, and he sees all things in their relation to it. I also was 
out this afternoon, and I took my gun, although I did not see 
a living thing to fire at. But the ‘still, cold woods,’ as you 
term them, were filled with a beauty and suggestiveness of 
which I was never conscious before. I remembered how dif- 
ferent they had appeared in past summers and autumns, and I 
^aw how ready they were for the marvellous changes that will 
take place in a few short weeks. The hillsides seemed like 
canvases on which an artist had drawn his few strong outlines 
which foretold the beauty to come so perfectly that the imagi- 
nation supplied it.” 

“ Why, Webb, I did not know you had so much imagination.” 

“ Nor did I, and I am glad that I am discovering traces of 
it. I have always loved the mountains, because so used to 
them — they were a part of my life and surroundings — but 
never before this winter have I realized they were so beautiful. 
When I found that you were going up among the hills, I 
thought I would go also, and then we could compare our 
impressions.” 

“ It was all too dreary for me,” said the young girl, in a low 
tone. “ It reminded me of the time when my old life ceased, 
and this new life had not begun. There were weeks wherein 
my heart was oppressed with a cold, heavy despondency, when 
I just wished to be quiet, and try not to think at all, and it 
seemed to me that nature looked to-day just as I felt.” 

“ I think it very sad that you have learned to interpret nature 
in this way so early in life. And yet I think I can understand 
you and your analogy.” 

“ I think you can, Webb,” she said, simply. 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


83 


CHAPTER XIII, 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY, 



HE quiet sequence of daily life was soon interrupted by 


X circumstances that nearly ended in a tragedy. One 
morning Burt saw an eagle sailing over the mountains. The 
snow had been greatly wasted, and in most places was so 
strongly incrusted that it would bear a man’s weight. There- 
fore the conditions seemed favorable for the eagle hunt which 
he had promised himself; and having told his father that he 
would look after the wood teams and men on his way, he took 
his rifle and started. 

The morning was not cold, and not a breath of air disturbed 
the sharp, still outlines of the leafless trees. The sky was 
slightly veiled with a thin scud of clouds. As the day advanced 
these increased in density and darkened in hue. 

Webb remarked at dinner that the atmosphere over the Bea- 
con Hills in the northeast was growing singularly obscure and 
dense in its appearance, and that he believed a heavy storm 
was coming. 

“ I am sorry Burt has gone to the mountains to-day,” said 
Mrs. Clifford, anxiously. 

“ Oh, don’t worry about Burt, ’ was Webb’s response ; “ there 
is no more danger of his being snowed in than of a fox’s.” 

Before the meal was over, the wind, snow-laden, was moan- 
ing about the house. With every hour the gale increased in 
intensity. Early in the afternoon the men with the two teams 
drove to the barn. Amy could just see their white, obscure 


8 4 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


figures through the blinding snow. Even old Mr. Clifford went 
out to question them. “ Yes, Mr. Burt come up in de mawnin’ 
an’ stirred us all up right smart, slashed down a tree hisself to 
show a new gawky hand dat’s cuttin’ by de cord how to ’arn 
his salt; den he put out wid his rafle in a bee-line towards de 
riber. Dat’s de last we seed ob him ; ” and Abram went 
stolidly on to unhitch and care for his horses. 

Mr. Clifford and his two elder sons returned to the house 
with traces of anxiety on their faces, while Mrs. Clifford was so 
worried that, supported by Amy, she made an unusual effort, 
and met them at the door. 

“ Don’t be disturbed, mother,” said Webb, confidently. 
“ Burt and I have often been caught in snow-storms, but never 
had any difficulty in finding our way. Burt will soon appear, 
or, if he doesn’t, it will be because he has stopped to recount 
to Dr. Marvin the results of his eagle hunt.” 

Indeed, they all tried to re-assure her, but, with woman’s 
quick instinct where her affections are concerned, she read 
what was passing in their minds. Her husband led her back 
to her couch, where she lay with her large dark eyes full of 
trouble, while her lips often moved in prayer. The thought 
of her youngest and darling son, far off and alone among 
those cloud-capped and storm-beaten mountains was terrible 
to her. 

Another hour passed, and still the absent youth did not re- 
turn. Leonard, his father^ and Amy, often went to the hall 
window and looked out. The storm so enhanced the early 
gloom of the winter afternoon that the out-buildings, although 
so near, loomed out only as shadows. The wind was growing 
almost fierce in its violence. Webb had so long kept up his 
pretence of reading that Amy began in her thoughts to resent 
his seeming indifference as cold-blooded. At last he laid down 
his book, and went quietly away. She followed him, for it 
seemed to her that something ought to be done, and that he 
was the one to do it. She found him in an upper chamber, 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


85 


standing by an open window that faced the mountains. Joining 
him, she was appalled by the roar of the wind as it swept down 
from the wooded heights. 

“Oh, Webb,” she exclaimed — he started at her words and 
presence, and quickly closed the window — “ ought not some- 
thing to be done ? The bare thought that Burt is lost in this 
awful gloom fills me with horror. The sound of that wind was 
like the roar of the ocean in a storm we had. How can he 
see in such blinding snow ? How could he breast this gale if 
he were weary?” 

He was silent a moment, looking with contracted brows at 
the gloomy scene. At last he began, as if re-assuring himself 
as well as the agitated girl at his side : 

“Burt, you must remember, has been brought up in this 
region. He knows the mountains well, and — ” 

“ Oh, Webb, you take this matter too coolly,” interrupted 
Amy, impulsively. “ Something tells me that Burt is in dan- 
ger ; ” and in her deep solicitude she put her hand on his arm. 
She noticed that it trembled, and that he still bent the same 
contracted brow towards the region where his brother must be 
if her fears were true. Then he seemed to come to a decision. 

“ Yes,” he said, quietly, “ I take it coolly. Perhaps it’s well 
that I can. You may be right, and there may be need of 
prompt, wise action. If so, a man will need the full control of 
all his wits. I will not, however, give up my hope — my almost 
belief — that he is at Dr. Marvin’s. I shall satisfy myself at 
once. Try not to show your fears to father and mother, that’s 
a brave girl.” 

He was speaking hurriedly now as they were descending the 
stairs. He found his father in the hall, much disturbed, and 
querying with his eldest son as to the advisability of taking 
some steps immediately. Leonard, although evidently growing 
anxious, still urged that Burt, with his knowledge and experi- 
ence as a sportsman, would not permit himself to be caught in 
such a storm. 


86 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ He surely must be at the house of Dr. Marvin or some 
other neighbor on the mountain road.” 

“ I also think he is at the doctor’s, but shall see,” Webb 
remarked, quietly, as he drew on his overcoat. 

“ I don’t think he’s there ; I don’t think he is at any neigh- 
bor’s house,” cried Mrs. Clifford, who, to the surprise of all, 
had made her way to the hall unaided. “ Burt is thoughtless 
about little things, but he would not leave me in suspense on 
such a night as this.” 

“ Mother, I promise you Burt shall soon be here safe and 
sound ; ” and Webb in his shaggy coat and furs went hastily 
out, followed by Leonard. A few moments later the dusky 
outlines of a man and a galloping horse appeared to Amy for a 
moment, and then vanished towards the road. 

It was some time before Leonard returned, for Webb had 
said : “ If Burt is not at the doctor’s, we must go and look for 
him. Had you not better have the strongest wood-sled ready? 
You will know what to do.” 

Having admitted the possibility of danger, Leonard acted 
promptly. With Abram’s help a pair of stout horses were soon 
attached to the sled, which was stored with blankets, shovels to 
clear away drifts, etc. 

Webb soon came galloping back, followed a few moments 
later by the doctor, but there were no tidings of Burt. 

Amy expected that Mrs. Clifford would become deeply agi- 
tated, but was mistaken. She lay on her couch with closed 
eyes, but her lips moved almost continuously. She had gone 
to Him whose throne is beyond all storms. 

Mr. Clifford was with difficulty restrained from joining his 
sons in the search. The old habit of resolute action returned 
upon him, but Webb settled the question by saying, in a tone 
almost stern in its authority, “Father, you must remain with 
mother.” 

Amy had no further reason to complain that Webb took the 
matter too coolly. He was all action, but his movements were 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


87 


as deft as they were quick. In the basket which Maggie had 
furnished with brandy and food he placed the conch-shell used 
to summon Abram to his meals. Then, taking down a double- 
barrelled breech-loading gun, he filled his pocket with cart- 
ridges. 

“What is that for?” Amy asked, with white lips, for, as he 
seemed the natural leader, she hovered near him. 

“ If we do not find him at one of the houses well up on the 
mountain, as I hope we shall, I shall fire repeatedly in our 
search. The reports would be heard farther than any other 
sound, and he might answer with his rifle.” 

Leonard now entered with the doctor, who said, “ All ready ; 
we have stored the sledge with abundant material for fires, and 
if Burt has met with an accident, I am prepared to do all that 
can be done under the circumstances.” 

“ All ready,” responded Webb, again putting on his coat and 
fur cap. 

Amy sprang to his side and tied the cap securely down with 
her scarf. 

“Forgive me,” she whispered, “for saying that you took 
Burt’s danger coolly. I understand you better now. Oh, 
Webb, be careful ! Think of yourself too. I now see that you 
are thinking of Burt only.” 

“ Of you also, little sister, and I shall be the stronger for 
/ such thoughts. Don’t give way to fear. We shall find Burt, 
and all come home hungry as wolves. Good-by.” 

“ May the blessing of Him who came to seek and save the 
lost go with you ! ” said the aged father, tremulously. 

A moment later they dashed away, followed by Burt’s hound 
and the watch-dog, and the darkness and storm hid them from 
sight. 

Oh, the heavy cross of watching and waiting ! Many claim 
that woman is not the equal of man because she must watch 
and wait in so many of the dread emergencies of life, forgetting 
that it is infinitely easier to act, to face the wildest storm that 


88 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


sweeps the sky or the deadliest hail crashing from cannons* 
mouths, than to sit down in sickening suspense waiting for the 
blow to fall. The man’s duty requires chiefly the courage 
which he shares with the greater part of the brute creation, and 
only as he adds woman’s patience, fortitude, and endurance 
does he become heroic. Nothing but his faith in God and his 
life-long habit of submission to his will kept Mr. Clifford from 
chafing like a caged lion in his enforced inaction. Mrs. Clifford, 
her mother’s heart yearning after her youngest and darling boy 
with an infinite tenderness, alone was calm. 

Amy’s young heart was oppressed by an unspeakable dread. 
It was partly due to the fear and foreboding of a child to whom 
the mountains were a Siberia-like wilderness in their awful ob- 
scurity, and still more the result of knowledge of the sorrow 
that death involves. The bare possibility that the light-hearted, 
ever-active Burt, who sometimes perplexed her with more than 
fraternal devotion, was lying white and still beneath the drifting 
snow, or even wandering helplessly in the blinding gale, was so 
terrible that it blanched her cheek, and made her lips tremble 
when she tried to speak. She felt that she had been a little 
brusque to him at times, and now she reproached herself in re- 
morseful compunction, and with the abandonment of a child to 
her present overwrought condition, felt that she could never 
refuse him anything should his blue eyes turn pleadingly to her 
again. At first she did not give way, but was sustained, like 
Maggie, by the bustle of preparation for the return, and in an- 
swering the innumerable questions of Johnnie and Alf. Webb’s 
assurance to his mother that he wculd bring Burt back safe and 
sound was her chief hope. From the .first moment of greeting 
he had inspired her with a confidence that had steadily in- 
creased, and from the time that he had admitted the possibility 
of this awful emergency he had acted so resolutely and wisely 
as to convince her that all that man could do would be done. 
She did not think of explaining to herself why her hope cen- 
tred more in him than in all the others engaged in the search, 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


89 


or why she was more solicitous about him in the hardships and 
perils that the expedition involved, and yet Webb shared her 
thoughts almost equally with Burt. If the latter were reached, 
Webb would be the rescuer, but her sickening dread was that 
in the black night and howling storm he could not be found. 

As the rescuing party pushed their way up the mountain with 
difficulty they became more and more exposed to the northeast 
gale, and felt with increasing dread how great was the peril to 
which Burt must be exposed had he not found refuge in some 
of the dwellings nearer to the scene of his sport. The roar of 
the gale up the rugged defile was perfectly terrific, and the 
snow caught up from the overhanging ledges was often driven 
into their faces with blinding force. They could do little better 
than give the horses their heads, and the poor brutes floundered 
slowly through the drifts. The snow had deepened incredibly 
fast, and the fierce wind piled it up so fantastically in every 
sheltered place that they were often in danger of upsetting, and 
more than once had to spring out with their shovels. At last, 
after an hour of toil, they reached the first summit, but no tid- 
ings could be obtained of Burt from the people residing in the 
vicinity. They therefore pushed on towards the gloomy wastes 
beyond, and before long left behind them the last dwelling and 
the last chance that he had found shelter before night set in. 
Two stalwart men had joined them in the search, however, and 
formed a welcome re-inforcement. With terrible forebodings 
they pressed forward, Webb firing his breech-loader rapidly, 
and the rest making what noise they could, but the gale swept 
away these feeble sounds, and merged them almost instantly in 
the roar of the tempest. It was their natural belief that in at- 
tempting to reach home Burt would first try to gain the West 
Point road that crossed the mountains, for here would be a 
pathway that the snow could not obliterate, and also his best 
chance of meeting a rescuing party. It was therefore their 
purpose to push on until the southern slope of Cro’ Nest was 
reached, but they became so chilled and despondent over 


9 o 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


their seemingly impossible task that they stopped on an emi- 
nence near a rank of wood. They knew that the outlook com- 
manded a wide view to the south and north, and that if Burt 
were cowering somewhere in that region, it would be a good 
point from which to attract his attention. 

“ I move that we make a fire here,” said Leonard. “ Abram 
is half-frozen, we are all chilled to the bone, and the horses 
need rest. I think, too, that a fire can be seen farther than any 
sound can be heard.” 

The instinct of self-preservation caused them all to accede, 
and, moreover, they must keep up themselves in order to ac- 
complish anything. They soon had a roaring blaze under the 
partial shield of a rock, while at the same time the flames rose 
so high as to be seen on both sides of the ridge as far as the 
storm permitted. The horses were sheltered as well as possible, 
and heavily blanketed. As the men thawed out their benumbed 
forms, Webb exclaimed, “ Great God ! what chance has Burt 
in such a storm? and what chance have we of finding him? ” 

The others shook their heads gloomily, but answered nothing. 

“ It will kill mother,” he muttered. 

“ There is no use in disguising the truth,” said the doctor, 
slowly. “ If Burt’s alive, he must have a fire. Our best chance 
is to see that. But how can one see anything through this swirl 
of snow, that is almost as thick in the air as on the ground ? ” 

To their great joy the storm soon began to abate, and the 
wind to blow in gusts. They clambered to the highest point 
near them, and peered eagerly for some glimmer of light ; but 
only a dim, wild scene, that quickly shaded off into utter ob- 
scurity, was around them. The snow-flakes were growing larger, 
however, and were no longer swept with a cutting slant into 
their faces. 

“ Thank God ! ” cried Webb, “ I believe the gale is nearly 
blown out. I shall follow this ridge towards the river as far as 
I can.” 

“ I’ll go with you,” said the doctor, promptly. 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


91 


* No,” said Webb ; “it will be your turn next. It won’t do 
for us all to get worn out together. I’ll go cautiously; and 
with this ridge as guide, and the fire, I can’t lose my way. I’ll 
take one of the dogs, and fire my gun about every ten minutes. 
If I fire twice in succession, follow me ; meanwhile give a blast 
on the conch every few moments ; ” and with these words he 
speedily disappeared. 

The doctor and Leonard returned to the fire, and watched 
the great flakes fall hissing into the flames. Hearing of Webb’s 
expedition, the two neighbors who had recently joined them 
pushed on up the road, shouting and blowing the conch-shell 
as often as they deemed it necessary. Their signal also was to 
be two blasts should they meet with any success. Leonard and 
the doctor were a corps de reserve. The wind soon ceased 
altogether, and a stillness that was almost oppressive took the 
place of the thunder of the gale. They threw themselves down 
to rest, and Leonard observed with a groan how soon his form 
grew white. “Oh, doctor,” he said, in a tone of anguish, 
“ can it be that we shall never find Burt till the snow melts? ” 

“Do not take so gloomy a view,” was the reply. “Burt 
must have been able to make a fire, and now that the wind has 
ceased we can attract his attention.” 

Webb’s gun was heard from time to time, the sounds growing 
steadily fainter. At last, far away to the east, came two reports 
in quick succession. The two men started up, and with the aid 
of lanterns followed Webb’s trail, Abram bringing up the rear 
with an axe and blankets. 

Sometimes up to his waist in snow, sometimes springing from 
rock to rock that the wind had swept almost bare, Webb had 
toiled on along the broken ridge, his face scratched and bleed- 
ing from the shaggy, stunted trees that it was too dark to avoid ; 
but he thought not of such trifles, and seemed endowed with a 
strength ten times his own. Every few moments he would stop, 
listen, and peer about him on every side. Finally, after a rather 
long upward climb, he knew he had reached a rock of some 


92 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY 


altitude. He again fired his gun. The echoes soon died away, 
and there was no sound except the low tinkle of the snow- 
flakes through the bushes. He was just about to push on, 
when, far down to the right and south of him, he thought he 
saw a gleam of light. He looked long and eagerly, but in vain. 
He passed over to that side of the ridge, and fired again ; but 
there was no response — nothing but the dim, ghostly snow on 
every side. Concluding that it had been but a trick of the 
imagination, he was about to give up the hope that had thrilled 
his heart, when feebly but unmistakably a ray of light shot up, 
wavered, and disappeared. At the same moment his dog gave 
a loud bark, and plunged down the ridge. A moment sufficed 
to give the preconcerted signal, and almost at the risk of life 
and limb Webb rushed down the precipitous slope. He had 
not gone very far before he heard a long, piteous howl that 
chilled his very soul with dread. He struggled forward des- 
perately, and, turning the angle of a rock, saw a dying fire, and 
beside it a human form merely outlined through the snow. As 
the dog was again raising one of his ill-omened howls, Webb 
stopped him savagely, and sprang to the prostrate figure, whose 
face was buried in its arm. 

It was Burt. Webb placed a hand that trembled like an 
aspen over his brother’s heart, and with a loud cry of joy felt 
its regular beat. Burt had as yet only succumbed to sleep, 
which in such cases is fatal when no help interposes. Webb 
again fired twice to guide the rescuing party, and then with 
some difficulty caused Burt to swallow a little brandy. He next 
began to chafe his wrists with the spirits, to shake him, and to 
shout in his ear. Slowly Burt shook off his fatal lethargy, and 
by the time the rest of the party reached him, was conscious. 

“ Good God ! ” he exclaimed, “ did I go to sleep? I vowed 
I would not a hundred times. Nor would I if I could have 
moved around ; but I’ve sprained my ankle, and can’t wall?.” 

With infinite difficulty, but with hearts light and grateful, they 
carried him on an improvised stretcher to the sled. Burt ex- 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


93 


plained that he had been lured farther and farther away by a 
large eagle that had kept just out of range, and in his excite- 
ment he had at first paid no attention to the storm. Finally 
its increasing fury and the memory of his distance from home 
had brought him to his senses, and he had struck out for the 
West Point road. Still he had no fears or misgivings, but while 
climbing the slope on which he was found, he slipped, fell, and 
in trying to save himself came down with his whole weight on 
a loose stone, and sprained his left ankle. He tried to crawl 
and hobble forward, and for a time gave way to something like 
panic. He soon found that he was using up his strength, and 
that he would perish with the cold before he could make half a 
mile. He then crawled under the sheltering ledge where Webb 
discovered him, and by the aid of his good woodcraft soon had 
a fire, for it was his fortune to have some matches. A dead 
and partially decayed tree, a knife strong enough to cut the 
saplings when bent over, supplied him with fuel. Finally the 
drowsiness which long exposure to cold induces began to 
oppress him. He fought against it desperately for a time, but, 
as events proved, was overpowered. 

“ God bless you, Webb ! ” he said, concluding his story. 
“ You have saved my life.” 

“ We have all had a hand at it,” was the quiet reply. “ I 
couldn’t have done anything alone.” 

Wrapped up beyond the possibility of further danger from 
the cold, and roused from time to time, Burt was carried home- 
ward as fast as the drifts permitted, the horses’ bells now chim- 
ing musically in the still air. 

As hour after hour passed and there was nothing left to do, 
Amy took Johnnie on her lap, and they rocked back and forth 
and cried together. Soon the heavy lids closed over the little 
girl’s eyes, and shut off the tears. Alf had already coiled up 
on a lounge and sobbed himself to sleep. Maggie took up the 
little girl, laid her down beside him, and covered them well 


94 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


from the draughts that the furious gale drove through every 
crack and cranny of the old house, glad that they had found a 
happy oblivion. Amy then crept to a footstool at Mrs. Clifford’s 
side — the place where she had so often seen the youth whom 
the storm she now almost began to believe had swept from 
them forever — and she bowed her head on the old lady’s thin 
hand and sobbed bitterly. 

“ Don’t give way so, darling,” said the mother, as her other 
hand stroked the brown hair. “ God is greater than the storm. 
We have prayed, and we now feel that he will do what is best.” 

“ Oh, that I had your faith ! ” 

“ It will come in time — when long years have taught you 
his goodness.” 

She slowly wiped her eyes, and stole a glance at Mr. Clifford. 
His earlier half-desperate restlessness had passed away, and he 
sat quietly in his chair gazing into the fire, occasionally wiping 
a tear from his eyes, and again looking upward with an expres- 
sion of sublime submission. Soon, as if conscious of her won- 
dering observation, he said, “ Come to me, Amy.” 

She stood beside him, and he drew her close as he continued : 

“ My child, one of the hardest lessons we can learn in this 
world is to say, ‘Not my will, but Thine be done.’ I have lived 
fourscore years, and yet I could not say it at first ; but now ” 
(with a calm glance heavenward) “ I can say, ‘ My Father, thy 
will be done.’ If he takes Burt, he has given us you; ” and 
he kissed her so tenderly that she bowed her head upon his 
shoulder, and said, brokenly, 

“ You are my father in very truth.” 

“Yes,” was his quiet response. 

Then she stole back to her seat. There was a Presence in 
the room that filled her with awe, and yet banished her former 
overwhelming dread and grief. 

They watched and waited ; there was no sound in the room 
except the soft crackle of the fire, and Amy thought deeply on 
the noble example before her of calm, trustful waiting. At last 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY, 


95 


she became conscious that the house was growing strangely 
still; the faint tick of the great clock on the landing of the 
stairs struck her ear ; the rush and roar of the wind had ceased. 
Bewildered, she rose softly and went to Maggie’s room, and 
found that the tired mother in watching over her children had 
fallen asleep in her chair. She lifted a curtain, and could 
scarcely believe her eyes when she saw that the trees that had 
been writhing and moaning in the gale now stood white and 
spectral as the lamp-light fell upon them. When had the wind 
ceased? It seemed as if the calm that had fallen upon her 
spirit had extended to nature ; that the storm had hushed its 
rude clamor even while it continued. From the window she 
watched the white flakes flutter through the light she knew not 
how long ; the old clock chimed out midnight, and then, faint 
and far away, she thought she heard the sleigh-bells. With 
swift, silent tread, she rushed to a side door and threw it open. 
Yes, clear and distinct she now heard them on the mountain 
road. With a low cry she returned and wakened Maggie, then 
flew to the old people, and, with a voice that she tried in vain 
to steady, said, “ They are coming.” 

Mr. Clifford started up, and was about to rush from the 
room, but paused a moment irresolutely, then returned, sat 
down by his wife, and put his arm around her. He was true to 
his first love. The invalid had grown faint and white, but his 
touch and presence were the cordials she needed. 

Amy fled back to the side door, and the sled soon ap- 
peared. There was no light at this entrance, and she was 
unobserved. She saw them begin to lift some one out, and 
she dashed through an intervening drift nearly to her waist. 
Webb felt a hand close on his arm with a grip that he long 
remembered. 

“Burt?” she cried, in a tone of agonized inquiry. 

“ Heigh-ho, Amy,” said the much-muffled figure that they 
were taking from the sled ; “ I’m all right.” 

In strong re-action, the girl would have fallen, had not Webb 


9 6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


supported her. He felt that she trembled and clung almost 
helplessly to him. 

“ Why, Amy,” he said, gently, “you will take your death out 
here in the cold and snow ; ” and leaving the others to care for 
Burt, he lifted her in his arms and carried her in. 

“Thank God, he’s safe,” she murmured. “Oh, we have 
waited so long ! There, I’m better now,” she said, hastily, and 
with a swift color coming into her pale cheeks, as they reached 
the door. 

“ You must not expose yourself so again, sister Amy.” 

“ I thought — I thought when you began to lift Burt out — ” 
But she could not finish the sentence. 

“ He has only sprained his ankle. Go tell mother.” 

Perhaps there is no joy like that which fills loving hearts 
when the lost is found. It is so pure and exalted that it is one 
of the ecstasies of heaven. It would be hard to describe how 
the old house waked up with its sudden accession of life — life 
that was so warm and vivid against the background of the 
shadow of death. There were murmured thanksgivings as feet 
hurried to and fro, and an opening fire of questions, which 
Maggie checked by saying : 

“ Possess your souls in patience. Burt’s safe — that’s enough 
to know until he is cared for, and my half- famished husband 
and the rest get their supper. Pretty soon we can all sit down, 
for I want a chance to hear too.” 

“ And no one has a better right, Maggie,” said her husband, 
chafing his hands over the fire. “ After what we’ve seen to- 
night, this place is the very abode of comfort, and you its pre- 
siding genius ; ” and Leonard beamed and thawed until the air 
grew tropical around him. 

At Mrs. Clifford’s request (for it was felt that it was not best 
to cross the invalid), Burt, in the rocking-chair wherein he had 
been placed, was carried to her room, and received a greeting 
from his parents that brought tears to the young fellow’s eyes. 
Dr. Marvin soon did all within his power at that stage for the 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


97 


sprained ankle and frost-bitten fingers, the mother advising, 
and feeling that she was still caring for her boy as she had 
done a dozen years before. Then Burt was carried back to the 
dining-room, where all were soon gathered. The table groaned 
under Maggie’s bountiful provision, and lamp-light and fire- 
light revealed a group upon which fell the richer light of a 
great joy. 

Burt was ravenously hungry, but the doctor put him on lim- 
ited diet, remarking, “You can soon make up for lost time.” 
He and Leonard, however, made such havoc that Amy pre- 
tended to be aghast ; but she soon noted that Webb ate spar- 
ingly, that his face was not only scratched and torn, but almost 
haggard, and that he was unusually quiet. The reasons were 
soon apparent. When all were helped, and Maggie had a 
chance to sit down, she said : 

“ Now tell us about it. We just heard enough when you 
first arrived to curdle our blood. How in the world, Burt, did 
you allow yourself to get caught in such a storm ? ” 

“ If it had not been for this confounded sprain I should have 
come out all right ; ” and then followed the details with which 
the reader is acquainted, although little could be got out of 
Webb. 

“ The upshot of it all is,” said Leonard, as he beamed upon 
the party with ineffable content, “ between mother’s praying 
and Webb’s looking, Burt is here, not much the worse for his 
eagle hunt.” 

They would not hear of the doctor’s departure, and very 
soon afterwards old Mr. Clifford gathered them around the 
family altar in a thanksgiving prayer that moistened every 
eye. 

Then all prepared for the rest so sorely needed. As Webb 
went to the hall to hang up his gun, Amy saw that he staggered 
in his almost mortal weariness, and she followed him. 

“There are your colors, Amy,” he said, laughingly, taking 
her scarf from an inner pocket, “ I wore it till an envious 


9 8 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


scrub-oak tore it off. It was of very great help to me — the 
scarf, not the oak.” 

“Webb,” she said, earnestly, “you can’t disguise the truth 
from me by any such light words. You are half-dead from ex- 
haustion. I’ve been watching you ever since your return. You 
are ill — you have gone beyond your strength, and in addition 
to it all I let you carry me in. Oh dear ! I’m so worried 
about you ! ” 

“ It’s wonderfully nice to have a little sister to worry about a 
fellow.” 

“But can’t I do something for you? You’ve thought about 
everybody, and no one thinks for you.” 

“ You have, and so have the rest, as far as there was occasion. 
Let me tell you how wan and weary you look. Oh, Amy, our 
home is so much more to us since you came ! ” 

“ What would our home be to us to-night, Webb, were it not 
for you ! And I said you took Burt’s danger too coolly. How 
I have reproached myself for those words ! God bless you, 
Webb ! you did not resent them ; and you saved Burt ; ” and 
she impulsively put her arm around his neck and kissed him, 
then fled to her room. 

The philosophical Webb might have had much to think 
about that night had he been in an analytical mood, for by 
some magic his sense of utter weariness was marvellously re- 
lieved. With a low laugh, he thought, 

“I’d be tempted to cross the mountains again for such a 
reward.” 


HINTS OF SPRING , . 


99 


CHAPTER XIV. 

HINTS OF SPRING. 

W HEN Amy awoke on the following morning she was 
almost dazzled, so brilliant was the light that flooded the 
room. Long, quiet sleep and the elasticity of youth had ban- 
ished all depression from mind and body, and she sprang eagerly 
to the window that she might see the effects of the storm, expect- 
ing to witness its ravages on every side. Imagine her wonder 
and delight when, instead of wide-spread wreck and ruin, a 
scene of indescribable beauty met her eyes ! The snow had 
draped all things in white. The trees that had seemed so gaunt 
and skeleton-like as they writhed and moaned in the gale were 
now clothed with a beauty surpassing that of their summer 
foliage, for every branch, even to the smallest twig, had been 
incased in the downy flakes. The evergreens looked like old- 
time gallants well powdered for a festival. The shrubbery of 
the garden was scarcely more than mounds of snow. The 
fences had almost disappeared ; while away as far as the eye 
could reach all was sparkling whiteness. Nature was like a bride 
adorned for her nuptials. Under the earlier influences of the 
gale the snow had drifted here and there, making the undula- 
tions of her robe, and under the cloudless sun every crystal glit- 
tered, as if over all had been flung a profusion of diamond dust. 
Nor did she seem a cold, pallid bride without heart or glad- 
ness. Her breath was warm and sweet, and full of an indefinable 
suggestion of spring. She seemed to stand radiant in maidenly 


IOO 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


purity and loveliness, watching in almost breathless expectation 
the rising of the sun above the eastern mountains. 

A happy group gathered at the breakfast- table that morning. 
Rest of mind and thankfulness of heart had conduced to re- 
freshing repose, and the brightness of the new day was reflected 
in every face. Burt’s ankle was painful, but this was a slight 
matter in contrast with what might have been his fate. He had 
insisted on being dressed and brought to the lounge in the 
breakfast-room. Webb seemed wonderfully restored, and Amy 
thought he looked almost handsome in his unwonted animation, 
in spite of the honorable scars that marked his face. Dr. Mar- 
vin exclaimed, exultingly, 

“ Miss Amy, you can begin the study of ornithology at once. 
There are bluebirds all about the house, and you have no idea 
what exquisite bits of color they are against the snow on this 
bright morning. After breakfast you must go out and greet 
these first arrivals from the South.” 

“Yes, Amy,” put in Leonard, laughing, “it’s a lovely morn- 
ing for a stroll. The snow is only two feet deep, and drifted 
in many places higher than your head. The ‘ beautiful snow ’ 
brings us plenty of prose in the form of back-aching work with 
our shovels.” 

“ No matter,” said Webb ; “ it has also brought us warmth, 
exquisitely pure air, and a splendid covering for grass and grain 
that will be apt to last well into the spring. Anything rather 
than mud and the alternate freezing and thawing that are as 
provoking as a capricious friend.” 

“ Why, Webb, what a burst of sentiment ! ” said Burt. 

“Doctor, the bluebirds seem to come like the south wind 
that Leonard says is blowing this morning,” Mrs. Clifford re- 
marked. “Where were they last night? and how have they 
reached us after such a storm? ” 

“ I imagine that those we hear this morning have been with 
us all winter, or they may have arrived before the storm. I 
scarcely remember a winter when I have not seen some around, 


SPRING HERALDS. 


HINTS OF SPRING. 


IOI 



and their instinct guides them where to find shelter. When 
the weather is very cold they are comparatively silent, but even 


a January thaw will make them tuneful. They are also mi 
grants, and have been coming northward for a week or two 


102 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


past, and this accounts for the numbers this morning. Poor 
little things ! they must have had a hard time of it last night, 
wherever they were.” 

“ Oh, I do wish I could make them know how glad I’d be 
to take them in and keep them warm every cold night ! ” shy 
Johnnie whispered to Maggie. 

“ They have a better mother than even you could be,” said 
the doctor, nodding at the little girl. 

“Have all the bluebirds a mother?” she asked, with won- 
dering eyes. 

“ Indeed they have, and all the other birds also, and this 
mother takes care of them the year round — Mother Nature, 
that’s her name. Your heart may be big enough, but your 
house would not begin to hold all the bluebirds, so Mother 
Nature tells the greater part of them to go where it’s warm 
about the ist of December, and she finds them winter homes 
all the way from Virginia to Florida. Then towards spring she 
whispers when it is safe to come back, and if you want to see 
how she can take care of those that are here even during such 
a storm as that of last night, bundle up and come out on the 
sunny back piazza.” 

There all the household soon after assembled, the men 
armed with shovels to aid in the path-making in which Abram 
was already engaged. Burt was placed in a rocking-chair by a 
window that he might enjoy the prospect also. A charming 
winter outlook it was, brilliant with light and gemmed with in- 
numerable crystals. To Amy’s delight, she heard for the first 
time the soft, down-like notes of the bluebird. At first they 
seemed like mere “ wandering voices in the air,” sweet, plain- 
tive, and delicate as the wind-swayed anemone. Then came a 
soft rustle of wings, and a bird darted downward, probably 
from the eaves, but seemingly it was a bit of the sky that had 
taken form and substance. He flew past her and dislodged a 
miniature avalanche from the spray on which he alighted. The 
little creature sat still a moment, then lifted and stretched one 


HINTS OF SPRING. 


103 

wing by an odd coquettish movement while it uttered its low 
musical warble. 

“Why,” exclaimed Amy, “he is almost the counterpart of 
our robin-redbreast of England ! ” 

“ Yes,” replied Dr. Marvin, “ he resembles your English red- 
breast closely both in appearance and habits, and our New 
England forefathers called him the ‘ blue robin.’ To my taste 
the bluebird is the superior of the two, for what he lacks in 
stronger and more varied song he makes up in softer, sweeter 
notes. And then he is so beautiful ! You have no blue birds 
of any kind in England, Amy. It seems to require our deeper- 
tinted skies to produce them. Ah, there comes his mate. You 
can tell her by the lighter blue of her plumage, and the tinge 
of brown on her head and back. She is a cold, coy beauty, 
even as a wife ; but how gallant is her azure-coated beau ! 
Flirt away, my little chap, and make the most of your courting 
and honeymoon. You will soon have family cares enough to 
discourage anybody but a bluebird ; ” and the doctor looked at 
his favorites with an exulting affection that caused a general 
laugh. 

“ I shall give our little friends something better than compli- 
ments,” said Mr. Clifford, obeying his hospitable instincts, and 
he waded through the snow to the sunny side of an evergreen, 
and there cleared a space until the ground was bare. Then he 
scattered over this little plot an abundance of bread-crumbs 
and hay seed, and they all soon had the pleasure of seeing half 
a dozen little bobbing heads at breakfast. Johnnie and Alf, 
who on account of the deep snow did not go to school, were 
unwearied in watching the lovely little pensioners on their 
grandfather’s bounty — not pensioners either, for, as the old 
man said, “ They pay their way with notes that I am always 
glad to accept.” 

The work of path-making and shovelling snow from the 
doors and roofs of the out-buildings went on vigorously all the 
morning. Abram also attached the farm horses to the heavy 


104 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


snow-plough, to which he added his weight, and a broad, track- 
like furrow was made from the house to the road, and then for 
a mile or more each way upon the street, for the benefit of the 
neighbors. Before the day was very far advanced, the south 
wind, which had been a scarcely perceptible breath, freshened, 
and between the busy shovels and the swaying branches the air 
was full of glittering crystals. The bride-like world was throw- 
ing off her ornaments and preparing for the prose of every-day 
life ; and yet she did so in a cheerful, lightsome mood. The 
sunny eaves dropped a profusion of gems from the melting 
snow. There was a tinkle of water in the pipes leading to the 
cistern. From the cackle in the barn-yard it appeared that 
the hens had resolved on unwonted industry, and were receiv- 
ing applause from the oft-crowing chanticleers. The horses, 
led out to drink, were in exuberant spirits, and appeared to find 
a child’s delight in kicking up the snow. The cows came 
briskly from their stalls to the space cleared for them, and were 
soon ruminating in placid content. What though the snow 
covered the ground deeper than at any time during the winter, 
the subtile spirit of spring was recognized and welcomed not 
only by man, but also by the lower creation ! 

After putting Burt in a fair way of recovery, Dr. Marvin, 
armed with a shovel to burrow his way through the heavier 
drifts, drove homeward. Alf floundered off to his traps, and 
returned exultant with two rabbits. Amy was soon busy sketch- 
ing them . previous to their transformation into a pot-pie, Burt 
looking on with a deeper interest in the artist than in her art, 
although he had already learned that she had not a little skill 
with her pencil. Indeed, Burt promised to become quite rec- 
onciled to his part of invalid, in spite of protestations to the 
contrary ; and his inclination to think that Amy’s companion- 
ship would be an antidote for every ill of life was increasing 
rapidly, in accordance with his hasty temperament, which ar- 
rived at conclusions long before others had begun to consider 
the steps leading to them. 



HINTS OF SPRING. 10 $ 

Amy was still more a child than a woman ; but a girl must 
be young indeed who does not recognize an admirer, especially 
so transparent a one as Burt would ever be. His ardent glances 


and compliments both amused and annoyed her. From his 
brothers she had obtained several hints of his previous and 
diversified gallantries, and was not at all assured that those in 


io 6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


the future might not be equally varied. She did not doubt the 
sincerity of his homage, however ; and since she had found it 
so easy to love him as a brother, it did not seem impossible 
that she should learn to regard him in another light, if all 
thought it best, and he “ would only be sensible and understand 
that she did not wish to think about such things for years to 
come.” Thus it may be seen that in one respect her heart was 
not much more advanced than that of little Johnnie. She ex- 
pected to be married some time or other, and supposed it 
might as well be to Burt as to another, if their friends so de- 
sired it; but she was for putting off submission to woman’s 
natural lot as long as possible. Possessing much tact, she was 
able in a great measure to repress the young fellow’s demonstra- 
tiveness, and maintain their brotherly and sisterly relations ; 
but it cost her effort, and sometimes she left his society flurried 
and wearied. ~ With Webb she enjoyed perfect rest and a pleas- 
ing content. He was so quiet and strong that his very presence 
seemed to soothe her jarring nerves. He appeared to under- 
stand her, to have the power to make much that interested her 
more interesting, while upon her little feminine mysteries of 
needle and fancy work he looked with an admiring helplessness, 
as if she were more unapproachable in her sphere than he could 
ever be in his, with all his scientific facts and theories. Women 
like this tribute to their womanly ways from the sterner sex. 
Maggie’s wifehood was made happy by it, for by a hundred little 
things she knew that the great, stalwart Leonard would be lost 
without her. Moreover, by his rescue of Burt, Webb had won 
a higher place in Amy’s esteem. He had shown the prompt 
energy and courage which satisfy woman’s ideal of manhood, 
and assure her of protection. Amy did not analyze her feelings 
or consciously assure herself of all this. She only felt that 
Webb was restful, and would give her a sense of safety, no 
matter what happened. 


NATURE'S BUILDING MATERIALS. 


loy 


CHAPTER XV. 
nature’s building materials. 

S OME days after Burt’s adventure, Dr. Marvin made his 
professional call in the evening. Mr. Alvord, Squire Bart- 
ley, and the minister also happened in, and all were soon 
chatting around Mr. Clifford’s ruddy hearth. The .pastor of 
this country parish was a sensible man, who, if he did not 
electrify his flock of a Sunday morning, honestly tried to guide 
it along safe paths, and led those whom he asked to follow. 
His power lay chiefly in the homes of his people, where his 
genial presence was ever welcomed. He did not regard those 
to whom he ministered as so many souls and subjects of theo- 
logical dogma, but as flesh-and-blood men, women, and chil- 
dren, with complex interests and relations ; and the heartiness 
of his laugh over a joke, often his own, and the havoc that he 
made in the dishes of nuts and apples, proved that he had 
plenty of good healthful blood himself. Although his hair was 
touched with frost, and he had never received any degree ex- 
cept his simple A.M., although the prospect of a metropolitan 
pulpit had grown remote indeed, he seemed the picture of con- 
tent as he pared his apple and joined in the neighborly talk. 

Squire Bartley had a growing sense of shortcoming in his 
farming operations. Notwithstanding his many acres, he felt 
himself growing “ land-poor,” as country people phrase it. He 
was not a reader, and looked with undisguised suspicion on 
book-farming. As for the agricultural journals, he said “ they 
were full of new-fangled notions, and were kept up by people 



io8 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


who liked to see their names in print.” Nevertheless, he was 
compelled to admit that the Cliffords, who kept abreast of the 
age, obtained better crops, and made their business pay far 
better than he did, and he was inclined to turn his neighborly 
calls into thrifty use by questioning Leonard and Webb con- 
cerning their methods and management. Therefore he re- 
marked to Leonard : “ Do you find that you can keep your land 
in good condition by rotation of crops? Folks say this will do 
it, but I find some of our upland is getting mighty thin, and 
crops uncertain.” 

“ What is your idea of rotation, squire?” 

“ Why, not growin’ the same crop too often on the same 
ground.” 

“ That is scarcely my idea. For the majority of soils the 
following rotation has been found most beneficial : corn and 
potatoes, which thoroughly subdue the sod the first year ; root 
crops, as far as we grow them, and oats the second ; then wheat 
or rye, seeded at the same time with clover or grass of some 
kind. We always try to plough our sod land in the fall, for in 
the intervening time before planting the sod partially decays, 
the land is sweetened and pulverized by the action of frost, and 
a good many injurious insects are killed also. But all rules 
need modification, and we try to study the nature of our vari- 
ous soils, and treat them accordingly.” 

“What! have a chemist prescribe for ’em like a doctor?” 
sneered the squire. “ Mr. Walters, the rich city chap who 
bought Roger’s worn-out farm, tried that to his heart’s content, 
and mine too. He had a little of the dirt of each part of his 
farm analyzed, you know, and then he sent to New York for his 
phosphates, his potashes, his muriates, and his compound-super- 
universal panacea vegetates, and with all these bad-smelling 
mixtures — his barn was like a big agricultural drug-store — he 
was going to put into his skinned land just the elements lack- 
ing. In short, he gave his soil a big dose of powders, and we 
all know the result. If he had given his farm a pinch of snuff 


NATURE'S BUILDING MATERIALS. 


109 


better crops ought to have been sneezed. No chemicals and 
land doctors for me, thank you. Beg pardon, Marvin ! no re- 
flections on your calling, but doctorin’ land don’t seem profit- 
able for those who pay for the medicine.” 

They all laughed except Webb, who seemed nettled, but who 
quietly said, “ Squire, will you please tell us what your house is 
made of ? ” 

“ Good lumber, sir.” 

“Well, when passing one day, I saw a fine stalk of com in 
one of your fields. Will you also tell us what that was made 
of? It must have weighed, with the ears upon it, several 
pounds, and it was all of six feet high. How did it come into 
existence? ” 

“ Why, it grew,” said the squire, sententiously. 

“That utterance was worthy of Solomon,” remarked Dr. 
Marvin, laughing. 

“It grew,” continued Webb, “because it found the needed 
material at hand. I do not see how Nature can build a well- 
eared stalk of corn without proper material any more than you 
could have built your house without lumber. Suppose we have 
a soil in which the elements that make a crop of corn do not 
exist, or are present in a very deficient degree, what course is 
left for us but to supply what is lacking ? Because Mr. Walters 
did not do this in the right way, is no reason why we should do 
nothing. If soil does not contain the ingredients of a crop, 
we must put them there, or our labor goes for nothing.” 

“ Well, of course there’s no gettin’ around that ; but yard 
manure is all I want. It’s like a square meal to a man, and not 
a bit of powder on his tongue.” 

“No one wants anything better than barn-yard manure for 
most purposes, for it contains nearly all the elements needed 
by growing plants, and its mechanical action is most beneficial 
to the soil. But how many acres will you be able to cover with 
this fertilizer this spring?” 

“That’s just the rub,” the squire answered. “We use all we 


1 10 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


have, and when I can pick it up cheap I buy some , but one 
can’t cover a whole farm with it, and so in spite of you some 
fields get all run out.” 

“ I don’t think there’s any need of their running out,” said 
Leonard, emphatically. “ I agree with Webb in one thing, if I 
can’t follow him in all of his scientific theories — we have both 
decided never to let a field £row poor, any more than we would 
permit a horse or cow to so lose in flesh as to be nearly use- 
less ; therefore we not only buy fertilizers liberally, but use all 
the skill and care within our power to increase them. Barn- 
yard manure can be doubled in bulk and almost doubled in 
value by composting with the right materials. We make the 
most of our peat swamps, fallen leaves, and rubbish in general. 
Enough goes to waste on many farms every year to keep several 
acres in good heart. But, as you say, we cannot begin to pro- 
cure enough to go over all the land from which we are taking 
crops of some kind ; therefore we maintain a rotation which is 
adapted to our various soils, and every now and then plough 
under a heavy green crop of clover, buckwheat, or rye. A 
green crop ploughed under is my great stand-by.” 

“ I ploughed under a crop of buckwheat once,” said the 
squire, discontentedly, “ and I didn’t see much good from it, 
except that the ground was light and mellow afterwards.” 

“That, at least, was a gain,” Leonard continued ; “but I can 
tell you why your ground was not much benefited, and perhaps 
injured. You scarcely ploughed under a green crop, for I re- 
member that the grain in your buckwheat straw was partly ripe. 
It is the forming seed or grain that takes the substance out of 
land. You should have ploughed the buckwheat under just as 
it was coming into blossom. Up to that time the chief growth 
had been derived from the air, and there had been very little 
drain upon the soil.” 

“ Well ! ” exclaimed the squire, incredulously, “ I didn’t know 
the air was so nourishing.” 

Webb had been showing increasing signs of disquietude dur- 


NATURE'S BUILDING MATERIALS. 


Ill 


ing the last few moments, and now said, with some emphasis : 
“ It seemwto me, squire, that there is not much hope of our 
farming successfully unless we do know something of the mate- 
rials that make our crops, and the conditions under which they 
grow. When you built your house you did not employ a man 
who had only a vague idea of how it was to be constructed, and 
what it was to be built of. Before your house was finished you 
had used lumber as your chief material, but you also employed 
brick, stone, lime, sand, nails, etc. If we examine a house, we 
find all these materials. If we wish to build another house, we 
know we must use them in their proper proportions. Now it 
is just as much a matter of fact, and is just as capable of proof, 
that a plant of any kind is built up on a regular plan, and from 
well-defined materials, as that a house is so built. The mate- 
rials in various houses differ just as the elements in different 
kinds of plants vary. A man can decide what he will build of ; 
Nature has decided forever what she will build of. She will 
construct a stalk of corn or wheat with its grain out of essen- 
tially the same materials to the end of time. Now suppose one 
or more of these necessary ingredients is limited in the soil, or 
has been taken from it by a succession of crops, what rational 
hope can we have for a good crop unless we place the absent 
material in the ground, and also put it there in a form suitable 
for the use of the plant?” 

“ What you say sounds plausible enough,” answered the 
squire, scratching his head with the worried, perplexed air of a 
man convinced against his will. “ How was it, then, that Wal- 
ters made such a mess of it? He had his soil analyzed by a 
land doctor, and boasted that he was going to put into it just 
what was lacking. His soil may not be lacking now, but his 
crops are.” 

“ It is possible that there are quacks among land doctors, as 
you call them, as well as among doctors of medicine,” remarked 
Dr. Marvin. 

“ Or doctors of theology,” added the minister. 


1 12 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ I looked into the Walters experiment somewhat carefully,” 
Webb resumed, “ and the causes of his failure were apparent to 
any one who has given a little study to the nature of soils and 
plant food. Some of his land needs draining. The ground is 
sour and cold from stagnant water beneath the surface, and the 
plant food which Nature originally placed in it is inert and in 
no condition to be used. Nearly all of his uplands have been 
depleted of organic or vegetable matter. He did not put into 
the soil all that the plants needed, and the fact that his crops 
were poor proves it. The materials he used may have been 
adulterated, or not in a form which the plants could assimilate 
at the time. Give Nature a soil in the right mechanical con- 
dition — that is, light, mellow, moist, but not wet, and contain- 
ing the essential elements of a crop — and she will produce it 
unless the season is so adverse that it cannot grow. I do not 
see how one can hope to be successful unless he studies Nature’s 
methods and learns her needs, adapting his labor to the former, 
and supplying the latter. For instance, nitrogen in the form 
of ammonia is so essential to our crops that without it they 
could never come to maturity were all the other elements of 
plant food present in excess. Suppose that for several succes- 
sive years we grow wheat upon a field with an average crop of 
twenty-five bushels to the acre. This amount of grain with its 
straw will take from the soil about fifty-one pounds of ammonia 
annually, and when the nitrogen (which is the main element of 
ammonia) gives out, the wheat will fail, although other plant 
food may be present in abundance. This is one reason why 
dairy farms from which all the milk is sold often grow poor. 
Milk is exceedingly rich in nitrogen, and through the milk the 
farm is depleted of this essential element faster than it is re- 
placed by fertilizers. A man may thus be virtually selling his 
farm, or that which gives it value, without knowing" it.” 

“ But what’s a man to do ? ” asked the squire, with a look of 
helpless perplexity. “ How is one to know when his land needs 
nitrogen or ammonia and all the other kinds of plant food, as 


NATURE'S. BUILDING MATERIAL. 1 13 

you call it, and how must he go to work to get and apply 
it?” V 

“You are asking large questions, squire,” Webb replied, with 
a quiet smile. “ In the course of a year you decide a number 
of legal questions, and I suppose read books, consult authori- 
ties, and use considerable judgment. It certainly never would 
do for people to settle these questions at hap-hazard or accord- 
ing to their own individual notions. Their decisions might be 
reversed. Whatever the courts may do, Nature is certain to 
reverse our decisions and bring to naught our action unless we 
comply with her laws and requirements.” 

The squire’s experience coincided so truly with Webb’s words 
that he urged no further objections against accurate agricultural 
knowledge, even though the information must be obtained in 
part at least from books and journals. 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


1 14 


CHAPTER XVI. 

GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 

“ T^vOCTOR,” said Mrs. Leonard, “ Amy and I have been 

1 ) indulging in some surmises over a remark you made the 
other day about the bluebirds. You said the female was a cold, 
coy beauty, and that her mate would soon be overburdened with 
family cares. Indeed, I think you rather reflected on our sex 
as represented by Mrs. Bluebird.” 

“ I fear I cannot retract. The female bluebird is singularly 
devoid of sentiment, and takes life in the most serious and 
matter-of-fact way. Her nest and her young are all in all to 
her. John Burroughs, who is a very close observer, says she 
shows no affection for the male and no pleasure in his society, 
and if he is killed she goes in quest of another mate in the 
most business-like manner, as one would go to a shop on an 
errand.” 

“ The heartless little jade ! ” cried Maggie, with a glance at 
Leonard which plainly said that such was not her style at all. 

“ Nevertheless,” continued the doctor, “ she awakens a love 
in her husband which is blind to every defect. He is gallantry 
itself, and at the same time the happiest and most hilarious of 
lovers. Since she insists on building her nest herself, and hav- 
ing everything to her own mind, he does not shrug his blue 
shoulders and stand indifferently or sullenly aloof. He goes 
with her everywhere, flying a little in advance as if for pro- 
tection, inspects her work with flattering minuteness, applauds 
and compliments continually. Indeed, he is the ideal French 
beau very much in love.” 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 1 1 5 

“ In other words, the counterpart of Leonard,” said Burt, at 
which they all laughed. 

“ But you spoke of his family cares,” Webb remarked : 
“he contributes something more than compliments, does he 
not?” 

“ Indeed he does. He settles down into the most devoted 
of husbands and fathers. The female usually hatches three 
broods, and as the season advances he has his hands, or his 
beak rather, very full of business. I think Burroughs is mis- 
taken in saying that he is in most cases the ornamental member 
of the firm. He feeds his wife as she sits on the nest, and 
often the first brood is not out of the way before he has another 
to provide for. Therefore he is seen bringing food to his wife 
and two sets of children, and occasionally taking her place on 
the nest. Nor does he ever get over his delusion that his mate 
is delighted with his song and little gallantries, for he keeps 
them up also to the last. So he has to be up early and late, 
and altogether must be a very tired little bird when he gets a 
chance to put his head under his wing.” 

“ Poor little fellow ! and to think that she doesn’t care for 
him ! ” sighed Amy, pityingly ; and they all laughed so heartily 
that she bent her head over her work to hide the rich color that 
stole into her face — all laughed except Mr. Alvord, who, as 
usual, was an attentive and quiet listener, sitting a little in the 
background, so that his face was in partial shadow. Keen-eyed 
Maggie, whose sympathies were deeply enlisted in behalf of her 
sad and taciturn neighbor, observed that he regarded Amy with 
. a close, wistful scrutiny, as if he were reading her thoughts. 
Then an expression of anguish, of something like despair, 
flitted across his face. “ He has lavished the best treasures of 
his heart and life on some one who did not care,” was her 
mental comment. 

“You won’t be like our little friend in blue, eh, Amy?” said 
old Mr. Clifford ; but with girlish shyness she would not reply 
to any such question. 


ii 6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ Don’t take it so to heart, Miss Amy. Mr. B. is never dis- 
enchanted,” the doctor remarked. 

“ I don’t like Mrs. B. at all,” said Maggie, decidedly ; “ and 
it seems to me that I know women of whom she is a type — 
women whose whole souls are engrossed with their material 
life. Human husbands are not so blind as bluebirds, and they 
want something more than housekeepers and nurses in their 
wives.” 

“ Excellent ! ” cried Rev. Mr. Barkdale ; “ you improve the 
occasion better than I could. But, doctor, how about our 
callous widow bluebird finding another mate after the mating 
season is over?” 

“There are - always some bachelors around, unsuccessful 
wooers whose early blandishments were vain.” 

“ And are there no respectable spinsters with whom they 
might take up as a last resort? ” Leonard queried. 

“ No, none at all. Think of that, ye maidens of New Eng- 
land, where the males are nearly all migrants and do not return ! 
The only chance for a bird-bachelor is to console some widow 
whom accident has bereaved of her mate. Widowers also are 
ready for an immediate second marriage. Birds and beasts of 
prey and boys — hey, Alf — bring about a good many step- 
parents.” 

“ Alf don’t kill any little birds, do you, Alf ? ” asked his 
mother. 

“ Well, not lately. You said they felt so bad over it. But if 
they get over it so easy as the doctor says — ” 

“ Now, doctor, you see the result of your scientific teaching.” 

“ Why, Mrs. Leonard, are you in sympathy with the priest- 
craft that would keep people virtuous through ignorance?” said 
the minister, laughing. “ Alf must learn to do right, knowing 
all the facts. I don’t believe he will shy a stone at a bird this 
coming year unless it is in mischief.” 

“Well,” said Squire Bartley, who had relapsed into a half- 
doze as the conversation lost its practical bent, “ between the 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 


II 7 


birds and boys I don’t see as we shall be able to raise any fruit 
before long. If our boys hadn’t killed about all the robins 
round our house last summer, I don’t think we’d ’a had a cherry 
or strawberry.” 

“ I’m afraid, squire,” put in Webb, quietly, “ that if all fol- 
lowed your boys’ example, insects would soon have the better 
of us. They are far worse than the birds. I’ve seen it stated 
on good authority that a fledgling robin eats forty per cent, 
more than its own weight every twenty- four hours, and I sup- 
pose it would be almost impossible to compute the number of 
noxious worms and moths destroyed by a family of robins in 
one season. They earn their share of fruit.” 

“Webb is right, squire,” added the doctor, emphatically. 
“ Were it not for the birds, the country would soon be as bare 
as the locusts left Egypt. Even the crow, against which you 
are so vindictive, is one of your best friends.” 

“ Oh, now, come, I can’t swallow that. Crows pull up my 
corn, rob hens’ nests, carry off young chickens. They even 
rob the nests of the other birds you’re so fond of. Why, some 
state legislatures give a boun^v for their destruction.” 

“ If there had only been a bounty for killing off the legisla- 
tors, the states would have fared better,” replied the doctor, 
with some heat. “ It can be proved beyond a doubt that the 
crow is unsurpassed by any other bird in usefulness. He is 
one of the best friends you have.” 

“Deliver me from my friends, then,” said the squire, rising; 
and he departed, with his prejudices against modern ideas and 
methods somewhat confirmed. 

Like multitudes of his class, he observed in nature only that 
which was forced upon his attention through the medium of 
immediate profit and loss. The crows pulled up his com, and 
carried off an occasional chicken ; the robins ate a little fruit ; 
therefore death to crows and robins. They all felt a certain 
sense of relief at his departure, for while their sympathies 
touched his on the lower plane of mere utility and money value, 


1 1 8 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


it would be bondage to them to be kept from other and higher 
considerations. Moreover, in his own material sphere his nar- 
row prejudices were ever a jarring element that often exasper- 
ated Webb, who had been known to mutter, “ Such clods of 
earth bring discredit on our calling.” 

Burt, with a mischievous purpose illuminating his face, re- 
marked : “ I’ll try to put the squire into a dilemma. If I can 
catch one of his boys shooting robins out of season, I will 
lodge a complaint with him, and insist on the fine;” and his 
design was laughingly applauded. 

“ I admit,” said Mr. Clifford, “ that Webb has won me over 
to a toleration of crows, but until late years I regarded them as 
unmitigated pests.” 

“ Undeserved enmity conies about in this way,” Webb re- 
plied. “We see a crow in mischief occasionally, and the fact 
is laid up against him. If we sought to know what he was 
about when not in mischief, our views would soon change. It 
would be far better to have a little corn pulled up than to be 
unable to raise corn at all. Crows can be kept from the field 
during the brief periods when they do harm, but myriads of 
grasshoppers cannot be managed. Moreover, the crow destroys 
very many field-mice and othe. rodents, but chief of all he is 
the worst enemy of the May-beetle and its larvae. In regions 
of the country where the crow has been almost exterminated 
by poison and other means, this insect has left the meadows 
brown and sear, while grasshoppers have partially destroyed 
the most valuable crops. Why can’t farmers get out of their 
plodding, ox-like ways, and learn to co-work with Nature like 
men?” 

“ Hurrah for Webb ! ” cried Burt. “ Who would have 
thought that the squire and a crow could evoke such a perora- 
tion ? That flower of eloquence surely grew from a rank, dark 
soil.” 

“ Squire Bartley amuses me very much,” said Mrs. Clifford, 
from the sofa, with a low laugh. “ He seems the only one 
who has the power to ruffle Webb.” 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 119 

“ Little wonder,” thought Amy, “ for it would be hard to 
find two natures more antagonistic.” 

“ It seems to me that this has been a very silent winter,” the 
minister remarked. “ In my walks and drives of late I have 
scarcely heard the chirp of a bird. Are there many that stay 
with us through this season, doctor?” 

“ More than you would suppose. But you would not be apt 
to meet many of them unless you sought for them. At this 
time they are gathered in sheltered localities abounding in their 
favorite food. Shall I tell you about some that I have observed 
throughout several successive winters ? ” 

Having received eager encouragement, he resumed : “ My 
favorites, the bluebirds, we have considered quite at length. 
They are very useful, for their food in summer consists chiefly 
of the smaller beetles and the larvae of little butterflies and 
moths. Many robins stay all winter. It is a question of food, 
not of climate, with them. In certain valleys of the White 
Mountains there is an abundance of berries, and flocks of 
robins feed on them all winter, although the cold reaches the 
freezing-point of mercury. As we have said, they are among 
the most useful of the insect destroyers. The golden-crested 
kinglet is a little mite of a bird, not four inches long, with a 
central patch of orange-red on his crown. He breeds in the 
far North, and wintering here is for him like going to the South. 
In summer he is a fly-catcher, but here he searches the bark of 
forest trees with microscopic scrutiny for the larvae of insects. 
We all know the lively black-capped chickadees that fly around 
in flocks throughout the winter. Sometimes their search for 
food leads them into the heart of towns and cities, where they 
are as bold and as much at home as the English sparrow. They 
also gather around the camps of log-cutters in the forest, be- 
c6me very tame, and plaintively cry for their share in the meals. 
They remain all the year, nesting in decayed logs, posts, stumps, 
and even in sides of houses, although they prefer the edge of a 
wood. If they' can find a hole to suit them, very well; if they 


120 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


can’t, they will make one. Their devotion to their young is 
remarkable. A nest in a decayed stump was uncovered, and 
the mother bird twice taken off by hand, and each time she 
returned and covered her brood. She uttered no cries or com- 
plaints, but devotedly interposed her little form between what 
must have seemed terrific monsters and her young, and looked 
at the human ogres with the resolute eyes of self-sacrifice. If 
she could have known it, the monsters only wished to satisfy 
their curiosity, and were admiring her beyond measure. Chick- 
adees are exceedingly useful birds, and make great havoc among 
the insects. 

“Our next bird is merely a winter sojourner, for he goes 
north in spring like the kinglet. The scientists, with a fine 
sense of the fitness of things, have given him a name in har- 
mony, Troglodytes parvulus, var. Hy emails T 

“ What monster bird is this ? ” cried Amy. 

“ He is about as big as your thumb, and ordinary mortals are 
content to call him the winter wren. He is a saucy little atom 
of a bird, with his tail pointing rakishly towards his head. I 
regret exceedingly to add that he is but a winter resident with 
us, and we rarely hear his song. Mr. Burroughs says that he is 
a 4 marvellous songster,’ his notes having a ‘ sweet rhythmical 
cadence v that holds you entranced.’ By the way, if you wish 
to fall in love with birds, you should read the books of John 
Burroughs. A little mite of a creature, like the hermit-thrush, 
he fills the wild, remote woods of the North with melody, and 
has not been known to breed farther south than Lake Mohunk. 
The brown creeper and the yellow-rumped warbler I will merely 
mention. Both migrate to the North in the spring, and the 
latter is only an occasional winter resident. The former is a 
queer little creature that alights at the base of a tree and creeps 
spirally round and round to its very top, when it sweeps down 
to the base of another tree to repeat the process. He is ever 
intent on business. Purple finches are usually abundant in 
winter, though not very numerous in summer. I value them 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 


121 


because they are handsome birds, and both male and female 
sing in autumn and winter, when bird music is at a premium. 
I won’t speak of the Carolina wax-wing, alias cedar or cherry 
bird, now. Next June, when strawberries and cherries are ripe, 
we can form his intimate acquaintance.” 

“ We have already made it, to the cost of both our patience 
and purse,” said Webb. “ He is one of the birds for whom I 
have no mercy.” 

“That is because you are not sufficiently acquainted with 
him. I admit that he is an arrant thief of fruit, and that, as 
his advocate, I have a difficult case. I shall not plead for him 
until summer, when he is in such imminent danger of capital 
punishment. He’s a little beauty, though, with his jaunty crest 
and gold- tipped tail. I shall not say one word in favor of the 
next bird that I mention, the great Northern shrike, or butcher- 
bird. He is not an honest bird of prey that all the smaller 
feathered tribes know at a glance, like the hawk ; he is a dis- 
guised assassin, and possessed by the very demon of cruelty. 
He is a handsome fellow, little over ten inches long, with a 
short, powerful beak, the upper mandible sharply curved. His 
body is of a bluish-gray color, with ‘ markings of white ’ on his 
dusky wings and tail. Three shrikes once made such havoc 
among the sparrows of Boston Common that it became neces- 
sary to take much pains to destroy them. He is not only a 
murderer, but an exceedingly treacherous one, for both Mr. 
Audubon and Mr. Nuttall speak of his efforts to decoy little 
birds within his reach by imitating their notes, and he does this 
so closely that he is called a mocking-bird in some parts of 
New England. When he utters his usual note and reveals him- 
self, his voice very properly resembles the ‘ discordant creaking 
of a sign-board hinge.’ A flock of snow-birds or finches may 
be sporting and feeding in some low shrubbery, for instance. 
They may hear a bird approaching, imitating their own notes. 
A moment later the shrike will be seen among them, causing 
no ai?rm, for his appearance is in his favor, Suddenly he will 


122 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 

pounce upon an unsuspecting neighbor, and with one blow of 
his beak take off the top of its head, dining on its brains. If 
there is a chance to kill several more, he will, like a butcher, 
hang his prey on a thorn, or in the crotch of a tree, and return 
for his favorite morsel when his hunt is over. After devouring 
the head of a bird he will leave the body, unless game is scarce. 
It is well they are not plentiful, or else our canary pets would 
be in danger, for a shrike will dart through an open window and 
attack birds in cages, even when members of the family are 
present. In one instance Mr. Brewer, the ornithologist, was 
sitting by a closed window with a canary in a cage above his 
head, and a shrike, ignorant of the intervening glass, dashed 
against the window, and fell stunned upon the snow. He was 
taken in, and found to be tame, but sullen. He refused raw 
meat, but tore and devoured little birds very readily. As I said 
before, it is fortunate he is rare, though why he is so I scarcely 
know. He may have enemies in the North, where he breeds ; 
for I am glad to say that he is only a winter resident. 

“ It gives one a genuine sense of relief to turn from this 
Apache, this treacherous scalper of birds, to those genuinely 
useful little songsters, the tree and the song sparrow. The 
former is essentially a Northern bird, and breeds in the high 
arctic regions. He has a fine song, which we hear in early 
April as his parting souvenir. The song sparrow will be a great 
favorite with you, Miss Amy, for he is one of our finest singers, 
whose song resembles the opening notes of a canary, but has 
more 'sweetness and expression. Those that remain with us de- 
part for the North at the first tokens of spring, and are replaced 
by myriads of other migrants that usually arrive early in March. 
You will hear them some mild morning soon. They are very 
useful in destroying the worst kinds of insects. A fit associate 
for the song sparrow is the American goldfinch, or yellowbird, 
which is as destructive of the seeds of weeds as the former is of 
the smaller insect pests. In summer it is of a bright gamboge 
yellow, with black crown, wings, and tail. At this time he is a 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 


123 


little olive-brown bird, and mingles with his fellows in small 
flocks. They are sometimes killed and sold as reed-birds. 
They are brilliant singers. 

“ The snow-bird and snow-bunting are not identical by any 
means; indeed, each is of a different genus. The bunting’s 
true home is in the far North, and it is not apt to be abundant 
here except in severe weather. Specimens have been found, 
however, early in November, but more often they appear with 
a late December snow-storm, their wild notes suggesting the 
arctic wastes from which they have recently drifted southward. 
The sleigh tracks on the frozen Hudson are among their favorite 
haunts, and they are not often abundant in the woods on this 
side of the river. Flocks can usually be found spending the 
winter along the railroad on the eastern shore. Here they be- 
come very fat, and so begrimed with the dirt and grease on the 
track that you would never associate them with the snowy 
North. They ever make, however, a singular and pretty spec- 
tacle when flying up between one and the late afternoon sun, 
for the predominant white in their wings and tail seems almost 
transparent. 'They breed at the extreme North, even along the 
Arctic Sea, in Greenland and Iceland, and are fond of marine 
localities at all times. It’s hard to realize that the little fellows 
with whom we are now so familiar start within a month for 
regions above the arctic circle. I once, when a boy, fired into 
a flock feeding in a sleigh track on the ice of the river. Some 
of those that escaped soon returned to their dead and wounded 
companions, and in their solicitude would let me come very 
near, nor, unless driven away, would they leave the injured ones 
until life^was extinct. On another occasion I brought some 
wounded ones home, and they ate as if starved, and soon be- 
came very tame, alighting upon the table at meal-times with a 
freedom from ceremony which made it necessary to shut them #- 
up. They spent most of their time among the house plants by 
the window, but towards spring the migratory instinct asserted 
itself and they became very restless, pecking at the panes in 


124 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


their eagerness to get away. Soon afterwards our little guests 
may have been sporting on an arctic beach. An effort was once 
made in Massachusetts to keep a wounded snow-bunting through 
the summer, but at last it died from the heat. They are usually 
on the wing northward early in March. 

“ The ordinary snow-bird is a very unpretentious and familiar 
little friend. You can find him almost any day from the ist of 
October to the ist of May, and may know him by his gray- 
ish or ashy black head, back, and wings, white body underneath 
from the middle of his breast backward, and white external tail- 
feathers. He is said to be abundant all over America east of 
the Black Hills, and breeds as far south as the mountains of 
Virginia. There are plenty of them in summer along the Sha- 
wangunk range, just west of us, in the Catskills, and so north- 
ward above the arctic circle. In the spring, before it leaves us, 
you will often hear its pretty little song. They are very much 
afraid of hawks, which make havoc among them at all times, 
but are fearless of their human — and especially of their hu- 
mane — neighbors. Severe weather will often bring them to 
our very doors, and drive them into the outskirts of large 
cities. They are not only harmless, but very useful, for they 
devour innumerable seeds, and small insects with their larvae. 

“ Dear me ! I could talk about birds all night.” 

“ And we could listen to you,” chorussed several voices. 

“ I never before realized that we had such interesting winter 
neighbors and visitors,” said Mrs. Clifford, and the lustre of her 
eyes and the faint bloom on her cheeks proved how deeply 
these little children of nature had enlisted her sympathies. 

“They are interesting, even when in one short evening I can 
give but in bald, brief outline a few of their characteristics. 
Your words suggest the true way of becoming acquainted with 
them. Regard them as neighbors and guests, in the main very 
useful friends, and then you will naturally wish to know more 
about them. In most instances they are quite susceptible to 
kindness, and are ready to be intimate with us. That handsome 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 


125 


bird, the blue jay, so wild at the East, is as tame and domestic 
as the robin in many parts of the West, because treated well. 
He is also a winter resident, and one of the most intelligent 
birds in existence. Indeed, he is a genuine humorist, and 
many amusing stories are told of his pranks. His powers of 
mimicry are but slightly surpassed by those of the mocking- 
bird, and it is his delight to send the smaller feathered tribes to 
covert by imitating the cries of the sparrow, hawk, and other 
birds of prey. When so tame as to haunt the neighborhood of 
dwellings, he is unwearied in playing his tricks on domestic 
fowls, and they — silly creatures ! — never learn to detect the 
practical joke, for, no matter how often it is repeated, they 
hasten panic-stricken to shelter. Wilson speaks of him as the 
trumpeter of the feathered chorus, but his range of notes is 
very great, passing from harsh, grating sounds, like the screech- 
ing of an unlubricated axle, to a warbling as soft and modulated 
as that of a bluebird, and again, prompted by his mercurial 
nature, screaming like a derisive fish-wife. Fledglings will de- 
velop contentedly in a cage, and become tame and amusing 
pets. They will learn to imitate the human voice and almost 
every other familiar sound. A gentleman in South Carolina 
had one that was as loquacious as a parrot, and could utter dis- 
tinctly several words. In this region they are hunted, and too 
shy for familiar acquaintance. When a boy, I have been tan- 
talized almost beyond endurance by them, and they seemed to 
know and delight in the fact. I was wild to get a shot at them, 
but they would keep just out of range, mocking me with dis- 
cordant cries, and alarming all the other game in the vicinity. 
They often had more sport than I. It is a pity that the small 
boy with his gun cannot be taught to let them alone. If they 
were as domestic and plentiful as robins, they would render us 
immense service. A colony of jays would soon destroy all the 
tent-caterpillars on your place, and many other pests. In In- 
diana they will build in the shrubbery around dwellings, but we 
usually hear their cries from mountain-sides and distant groves. 


126 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Pleasant memories of rambles and nutting excursions they 
always awaken. The blue jay belongs to the crow family, and 
has all the brains of his black-coated and more sedate cousins. 
At the North, he will, like a squirrel, lay up for winter a hoard 
of acorns and beech mast. An experienced bird-fancier asserts 
that he found the jay ‘ more ingenious, cunning, and teachable 
than any other species of birds that he had ever attempted to 
instruct.’ 

“ One of our most beautiful and interesting winter visitants is 
the pine grosbeak. Although very abundant in some seasons, 
even extending its migrations to the latitude of Philadelphia, 
it is irregular, and only the coldest weather prompts its excur- 
sions southward. The general color of the males is a light 
carmine, or rose, and if only plentiful they would make a beau- 
tiful feature in our snowy landscape. As a general thing, the 
red tints are brighter in the American than in the European 
birds. The females, however, are much more modest in their 
plumage, being ash-colored above, with a trace of carmine be- 
hind their heads and upon their upper tail coverts, and some- 
times tinged with greenish-yellow beneath. The females are by 
far our more abundant visitants, for in the winter of ’75 I saw 
numerous flocks, and not over two per cent, were males in red 
plumage. Still, strange to say, I saw a large flock of adult 
males the preceding November, feeding on the seeds of a Nor- 
way spruce before our house. Oh, what a brilliant assemblage 
they made among the dark branches ! In their usual haunts 
they live a very retired life. The deepest recesses of the pine 
forests at the far North are their favorite haunts, and here the 
majority generally remain throughout the year. In these re- 
mote wilds is bred the fearlessness of man which is the result 
of ignorance, for they are among the tamest of all wild birds, 
finding, in this respect, their counterpart in the American red 
cross-bill, another occasional cold-weather visitant. For several 
winters the grosbeaks were exceedingly abundant in the vicinity 
of Boston, and were so tame that they could be captured in 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 


127 


butterfly nets, and knocked down with poles. The markets 
became full of them, and many were caged. While tame they 
were very unhappy in confinement, and as spring advanced their 
mournful cries over their captivity became incessant. They can 
be kept as pets, however, and will often sing in the night. Mr. 
Audubon observed that when he fired at one of their number, 
the others, instead of flying away, would approach within a few 
feet, and gaze at him with undisguised curiosity, unmingled with 
fear. I have seen some large flocks this winter, and a few fed 
daily on a bare plot of ground at the end of our piazza. I was 
standing above this plot one day, when a magnificent red male 
flew just beneath my feet and drank at a little pool. I never 
saw anything more lovely in my life than the varying sheen of 
his brilliant tropical-like plumage. He was like a many-hued 
animated flower, and was so fearless that I could have touched 
him with a cane. One very severe, stormy winter the grosbeaks 
fairly crowded the streets of Pictou. A gentleman took one of 
these half-starved birds into his room, where it lived at large, 
and soon became the tamest and most affectionate of pets. 
But in the spring, when its mates were migrating north, Nature 
asserted herself, and it lost its familiarity, and filled the house 
with its piteous wailings, refused food, and sought constantly to 
escape. When the grosbeaks are with us you would not be apt 
to notice them unless you stumbled directly upon them, for they 
are the most silent of birds, which is remarkable, since the 
great majority of them are females.” 

“ That is just the reason why they are so still,” remarked 
Mrs. Leonard. “ Ladies never speak unless they have some- 
thing to say.” 

“ Far be it from me to contradict you. The lady grosbeaks 
certainly have very little to say to one another, though when 
mating in their secluded haunts they probably express their 
preferences decidedly. If they have an ear for music, they 
must enjoy their wooing immensely, for there is scarcely a love- 
lier song than that of the male grosbeak. I never heard it but 


2 8 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


once, and may never again ; but the thrill of delight that I ex* 
perienced that intensely cold March day can never be forgotten. 
I was following the course of a stream that flowed at the bot- 
tom of a deep ravine, when, most unexpectedly, I heard a new 
song, which proceeded from far up the glen. The notes were 
loud, rich, and sweet, and I hastened on to identify the new 
vocalist. I soon discovered a superb red pine grosbeak perched 
on the top of a tall hemlock. His rose-colored plumage and 
mellow notes on that bleak day caused me to regret exceedingly 
that he was only an uncertain and transient visitor to our region. 

“ We have a large family of resident hawks in this vicinity ; 
indeed, there are nine varieties of this species of bird with us 
at this time, although some of them are rarely seen. The 
marsh-hawk has a bluish or brown plumage, and in either case 
is distinguished by a patch of white on its upper tail coverts. 
You would not be apt to meet with it except in its favorite 
haunts. I found a nest in the centre of Consook Marsh, be- 
low West Point. It was a rude affair. The nests of this hawk 
are usually made of hay, lined with pine needles, and some- 
times at the North with feathers. This bird is found nearly 
everywhere in North America, and breeds as high as Hudson 
Bay. In the marshes on the Delaware it is often called the 
mouse-hawk, for it sweeps swiftly along the low ground in search 
of a species of mouse common in that locality. It is said to 
be very useful in the Southern rice-fields, since, as it sails low, 
it interrupts the flocks of bobolinks, or rice-birds, in their dep- 
redations. Planters say that one marsh-hawk accomplishes 
more than several negroes in alarming these greedy little gour- 
mands. In this region they do us no practical harm. 

“ Our most abundant hawk is the broad-winged, which will 
measure about thirty-six inches with wings extended. The 
plumage of this bird is so dusky as to impart a prevalent brown- 
ish color, and the species is distributed generally over eastern 
North America. Unlike the marsh-hawk, it builds in trees, and 
Mr. Audubon describes a nest as similar to that of the crow — 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 


129 


' a resemblance easily accounted for by the frequency with which 
this hawk will repair crows’ nest§ of former years for its own 
use. I once shot one upon such a nest, from which I had 
taken crows’ eggs the preceding summer. I had only wounded 
the bird, and he clawed me severely before I was able to cap- 
ture him. I once took a fledgling from a nest, and he became 
very fond of me, and quite gentle, but he would not let any one 
else handle him. On another occasion, when I was examining a 
nest, the male bird flew to a branch just over it, uttering loud, 
squealing cries, thence darted swiftly past me, and so close that 
I could feel the rush of air made by his wings ; then he perched 
near again, and threatened me in every way he could, extend- 
ing his wings, inclining his head and body towards me, making 
meanwhile a queer whistling sound. Only when I reached the 
nest would the female leave it, and then she withdrew but a 
short distance, returning as soon as I began to descend. The 
devotion of these wild creatures to their young is often marvel- 
lous. Mr. Audubon describes this hawk as ‘ spiritless, inactive, 
and so deficient in courage that he is often chased by the little 
sparrow-hawk and kingbird.’ Another naturalist dissents em- 
phatically from this view, and regards the broad-winged as the 
most courageous and spirited of his family, citing an instance 
of a man in his employ who, while ascending to a nest, was as- 
sailed with great fury. His hat was torn from his head, and he 
would have been injured had not the bird been shot. He also 
gives another example of courage in an attack by this hawk 
upon a boy seeking to rob its nest. It fastened its talons in his 
arm, and could not be beaten off until it was killed. Perhaps 
both naturalists are right. It is brave and fierce when its home 
is disturbed, and lacks the courage to attack other birds of its 
own kind. At any rate, it has no hesitancy in making hawk- 
love to chickens and ducklings, but as a rule subsists on insects 
and small quadrupeds. It is not a very common winter resi- 
dent, but early in March it begins to come northward in flocks. 

" Next to the broad-winged, the sharp-shinned is our most 


130 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


abundant hawk, and is found throughout the entire continent 
from Hudson Bay to Mexico. It usually builds its nest in 
trees, and occasionally on ledges of rocks, and as a general 
thing takes some pains in its construction. Its domicile ap- 
proaches the eagle’s nest in form, is broad and shallow, and 
made of sticks and twigs lined thinly with dried leaves, mosses, 
etc. A full-grown female — which, as I told you once before, 
is always larger than the male among birds of prey — measures 
about twenty-six inches with wings extended. It is lead-colored 
above, and lighter beneath. You can easily recognize this hawk 
by its short wings, long tail, and swift, irregular flight. One 
moment it is high in the air, the next it disappears in the grass, 
having seized the object of its pursuit. It is capable of sur- 
prisingly sudden dashes, and its pursuit is so rapid that escape 
is well-nigh hopeless. It is not daunted by obstacles. Mr. 
Audubon saw one dart into a thicket of briers, strike and in- 
stantly kill a thrush, and emerge with it on the opposite side. 
It often makes havoc among young chickens. One came every 
* day to a poultry-yard until it had carried off over twenty. It 
does not hesitate to pounce down upon a chicken even in the 
farmer’s presence; and one, in a headlong pursuit, broke 
through the glass of a greenhouse, then dashed through another 
glass partition, and was only brought up by a third. Pigeons 
are also quite in its line. Indeed, it is a bold red-taloned free- 
booter, and only condescends to insects and the smaller reptiles 
when there are no little birds at hand. During the spring 
migration this hawk is sometimes seen in large flocks. 

“ The American goshawk is the next bird of this family that 
I will mention, and I am very glad to say that he is only a 
winter resident. He is the dreaded blue hen-hawk of New 
England, and is about twenty-three inches long, and forty-four 
from tip to tip of wings. One good authority says that for 
strength, intrepidity, and fury he cannot be surpassed. He will 
swoop down into a poultry-yard and carry off a chicken almost 
before you can take a breath. He is swift, cunning, and adroit 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 


131 

rather than heedless and headlong, like the sharp-shinned hawk, 
and although the bereaved farmer may be on the alert with his 
gun, this marauder will watch his chance, dash into the yard, 
then out again with his prey, so suddenly that only the de- 
spairing cries of the fowl reveal the murderous onslaught. In 
western Maine this hawk is very common. A housewife will 
hear a rush of wings and cries of terror, and can only reach 
the door in time to see one of these robbers sailing off with the 
finest of her pullets. Hares and wild-ducks are favorite game 
also. The goshawk will take a mallard with perfect ease, neatly 
and deliberately strip off the feathers, and then, like an epicure, 
eat the breast only. Audubon once saw a large flock of black- 
birds crossing the Ohio. Like an arrow a goshawk darted upon 
them, while they, in their fright, huddled together. The hawk 
seized one after another, giving each a death-squeeze, then 
dropping it into the water. In this way he killed five before 
the flock escaped into the woods. He then leisurely went 
back, picked them up one by one, and carried them to the spot 
selectee 1 for his lunch. With us, I am happy to say, he is shy 
and distant, preferring the river marshes to the vicinity of our 
farm-yards. He usually takes his prey while swooping swiftly 
along on the wing.” 

“ Have we any hawks similar to those employed in the old- 
time falconry of Europe?” Webb asked. 

“Yes; our duck or great-footed hawk is almost identical 
with the well-known peregrine falcon of Europe. It is a per- 
manent resident, and breeds on the inaccessible cliffs of the 
Highlands, although preferring similar localities along a rocky 
sea-coast. There is no reason to doubt that our duck-hawk 
might be trained for the chase as readily as its foreign congener. 
It has the same wonderful powers of flight, equal docility in 
confinement, and can be taught to love and obey its master. I 
have often wondered why falconry has not been revived, like 
other ancient sports. The Germans are said to have employed 
trained hawks to capture carrier-pigeons that were sent out with 


132 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


missives by the French during the siege of Paris. In a few 
instances the duck-hawk has been known to nest in trees. It 
is a solitary bird, and the sexes do not associate except at the 
breeding season. While it prefers water- fowl, it does not con- 
fine itself to them. I shot one on a Long Island beach and 
found in its crop whole legs of the robin, Alice’s thrush, cat- 
bird, and warblers. It measures about forty-five inches in the 
stretch of its wings, and its prevailing color is of a dark blue. 

“ The pigeon-hawk is not very rare at this season. Professor 
Baird describes this bird as remarkable for its rapid flight, its 
courage, and its enterprise in attacking birds even larger than 
itself. This accords with my experience, for my only specimen 
was shot in the act of destroying a hen. He is about the size 
of our common flicker, or high-holder, which bird, with robins, 
pigeons, and others of similar size, is his favorite game. The 
sparrow-hawk is rare at this time, and is only abundant occa- 
sionally during its migrations. The red-shouldered hawk is a 
handsome bird, with some very good traits, and is a common 
permanent resident. Unless hunted, these birds are not shy, 
and they remain mated throughout the year. Many a human 
pair might learn much from their affectionate and considerate 
treatment of each other. They do not trouble poultry-yards, 
and are fond of frogs, cray-fish, and even insects. Occasionally 
they will attack birds as large as a meadow-lark. They have a 
high and very irregular flight, but occasionally they so stuff 
themselves with frogs that they can scarcely move. Wilson 
found one with the remains of ten frogs in his crop. 

“ Last among the winter residents I can merely mention the 
red-tailed hawk, so named from the deep rufus color of its tail 
feathers. It is a heavy, robust bird, and while it usually feeds 
on mice, moles, and shrews that abound in meadows, its depre- 
dations on farm-yards are not infrequent. It is widely dis- 
tributed throughout the continent, and abundant here. It is a 
powerful bird, and can compass long distances with a strong, 
steady flight, often moving with no apparent motion of the 


GOSSIP ABOUT BIRD-NEIGHBORS. 


133 


wings. It rarely seizes its prey while flying, like the goshawk, 
but with its keen vision will inspect the immediate vicinity from 
the branch of a tree, and thence dart upon it. It is not par- 
ticular as to its food. Insects, birds, and reptiles -are alike wel- 
come game, and in summer it may be seen carrying a writhing 
snake through the air. While flying it utters a very harsh, 
peculiar, and disagreeable scream, and by some is called the 
squealing hawk. The social habits of this bird are in appro- 
priate concord with its voice. After rearing their young the 
sexes separate, and are jealous of and hostile to each other. It 
may easily happen that if the wife of the spring captures any 
prey, her former mate will struggle fiercely for its possession, 
and the screaming clamor of the fight will rival a conjugal 
quarrel in the Bowery. In this respect they form an unpleasing 
contrast with the red-shouldered hawks, among whom marriage 
is permanent, and maintained with lover-like attentions. Thus 
it would appear that there are contrasts of character even in 
the hawk world ; and when you remember that we have fifteen 
other varieties of this bird, besides the nine I have mentioned, 
you may think that nature, like society, is rather prodigal in 
hawks. As civilization advances, however, innocence stands a 
better chance. At least this is true of the harmless Song-birds. 

“ I have now given you free-hand sketches of the great ma- 
jority of our winter residents, and these outlines are necessarily 
very defective from their brevity as well as for other reasons. 
I have already talked an unconscionably long time ; but what 
else could you expect from a man with a hobby ? As it is, I 
am not near through, for the queer little white-bellied nut-hatch, 
and his associates in habits, the downy, the hairy, the golden- 
winged, and the yellow-bellied woodpeckers, and four species 
of owls, are also with us at this season. With the bluebirds the 
great tide of migration has already turned northward, and all 
through March, April, and May I expect to greet the successive 
arrivals of old friends every time I go out to visit my patients. 
I can assure you that I have no stupid, lonely drives, unless the 


134 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


nights are dark and stormy. Little Johnnie, I see, has gone to 
sleep. I must try to meet some fairies and banshees in the 
moonlight for her benefit. But, Alf, I’m delighted to see you 
so wide-awake. Shooting birds as game merely is very well, but 
capturing them in a way to know all about them is a sport that 
is always in season, and would grow more and more absorbing 
if you lived a thousand years.” 

A bent for life was probably given to the boy’s mind that 
night. 


FISHING THROUGH THE ICE, 


135 


CHAPTER XVII. 

FISHING THROUGH THE ICE. 

E VERY day through the latter part of February the sun grew 
higher, and its rays more potent. The snow gave rapidly 
in warm southern nooks and slopes, and the icicles lengthened 
from the eaves and overhanging rocks, forming in many in- 
stances beautiful crystal fringes. On northern slopes and shaded 
places the snow scarcely wasted at all, and Amy often wondered 
how the vast white body that covered the earth could ever dis- 
appear in time for spring. But there soon came a raw, chilly, 
cloudy day, with a high south wind, and the snow sank away, 
increasing the apparent height of the fences, and revealing ob- 
jects hitherto hidden, as if some magic were at work. 

“ I have always observed,” said Mr. Clifford, “ that a day like 
this, raw and cold as it seems, does more to carry off the snow 
than a week of spring sunshine, although it may be warm for 
the season. What is more, the snow is wasted evenly, and not 
merely on sunny slopes. The wind seems to soak up the melt- 
ing snow like a great sponge, for the streams are not perceptibly 
raised.” 

“ The air does take it up in the form of vapor,” said Webb, 
“ and that is why we have such a chilly snow atmosphere. Rap- 
idly melting snow tends to lower the temperature proportion- 
ately, just as ice around a form of cream, when made to melt 
quickly by the addition of salt, absorbs all heat in its vicinity 
so fast that the cream is congealed. But this accumulation of 
vapor in the air must come down again, perhaps in the form of 
snow, and so there will be no apparent gain.” 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


136 

“ If no apparent gain, could there be a real gain by another 
fall of snow? ” Amy asked, for to inexperienced eyes there cer- 
tainly seemed more than could be disposed of in time for April 
flowers. 

“ Yes,” he replied, “ a fall of snow might make this whole 
section warmer for a time, and so hasten spring materially. Do 
not worry. We shall have plenty of snow-storms yet, and still 
spring will be here practically on time.” 

But instead of snow the vapor- burdened air relieved itself by 
a rain of several hours’ duration, and in the morning the river 
that had been so white looked icy and glistening, and by the 
aid of a glass was seen to be covered with water, which rippled 
under the rising breeze. The following night was clear and 
cold, and the surface of the bay became a comparatively smooth 
glare of ice. At dinner next day Webb remarked : 

“ I hear that they are catching a good many striped bass 
through the ice, and I learned that the tide would be right for 
them to raise the nets this afternoon. I propose, Amy, that 
we go down and see the process, and get some of the fish direct 
from the water for supper.” 

Burt groaned, and was almost jealous that during his enforced 
confinement so many opportunities to take Amy out fell natu- 
rally to Webb. The latter, however, was so entirely fraternal 
in his manner towards the young girl that Burt was ever able to 
convince himself that his misgivings were absurd. 

Webb was soon ready, and had provided himself with his 
skates and a small sleigh with a back. When they arrived at 1 the 
landing he tied his horse, and said : 

“ The ice is too poor to drive on any longer, I am informed, 
but perfectly safe still for foot-passengers. As a precaution we 
will follow the tracks of the fishermen, and I will give you a 
swift ride on this little sledge, in which I can wrap you up well.” 

Like most young men brought up in the vicinity, he was a 
good and powerful skater, and Amy was soon enjoying the ex- 
hilarating sense of rapid motion over the smooth ice, with a 


FISHING THROUGH THE ICE . 


137 


superb view of the grand mountains rising on either side of the 
river a little to the south. They soon reached the nets, which 
stretched across the river through narrow longitudinal cuts so 
as to be at right angles to each tide, with which the fish usually 
swim. These nets are such in shape as were formerly suspended 
between the old-fashioned shad-poles, and are sunk perpendic- 
ularly in the water by weights at each end, so that the meshes 
are expanded nearly to their full extent. The fish swim into 
these precisely as do the shad, and in their attempts to back 
out their gills catch, and there they hang. 

The nets are about twelve feet square, and the meshes of dif- 
ferent nets are from two and a half to five and a quarter inches 
in size. A bass of nine pounds’ weight can be “ gilled ” in the 
ordinary manner ; but in one instance a fish weighing one hun- 
dred and two pounds was caught, and during the present season 
they were informed that a lucky fisherman at Marlborough had 
secured “ a 5 2 -pounder.” These heavy fellows, it was explained, 
“would go through a net like a cannon-ball” if they came 
“ head on,” and with ordinary speed ; but if they are playing 
around gently, the swift tide carries them sideways into the 
“ slack of the net,” from which they seem unable to escape. 
There are usually about forty-five feet between the surface of 
the water and the top of the nets, therefore the fish are caught 
at an average depth of fifty feet. The best winter fishing is 
from December to March, and as many as one hundred and 
seventy pounds, or about two hundred bass, have been taken in 
twenty-four hours from one line of nets ; at other times the luck 
is very bad, for the fish seem to run in streaks. 

The luck was exceedingly moderate on the present occasion, 
but enough fish were caught to satisfy Webb’s needs. As they 
were watching the lifting of the nets and angling for Information, 
they saw an ice-boat slowly and gracefully leaving the landing, 
and were told that since the ice had grown thin it had taken 
the place of the sleigh in which the passengers were conveyed 
to and from the railroad station on the farther shore. The wind, 


138 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


being adverse, necessitated several tacks, and on one of them 
the boat passed so near Webb and Amy that they recognized 
Mr. Barkdale, the clergyman, who, as he sped by, saluted them. 
When the boat had passed on about an eighth of a mile, it tacked 
so suddenly and sharply that the unwary minister was rolled out 
upon the ice. The speed and impetus of the little craft were 
so great that before it could be brought up it was about half a 
mile away, and the good man was left in what might be a dan- 
gerous isolation, for ice over which the boat could skim in se- 
curity might be very unsafe under the stationary weight of a 
solidly built man like Mr. Barkdale. Webb therefore seized 
a pole belonging to one of the fishermen, and came speedily to 
the clergyman’s side. Happily the ice, although it had wasted 
rapidly from the action of the tide in that part of the river, 
sustained them until the boat returned, and the good man re- 
sumed his journey with laughing words, by which he neverthe- 
less conveyed to Webb his honest gratitude for the promptness 
with which the young fellow had shared his possible danger, 
when Webb returned he found Amy pale and agitated, for an 
indiscreet fisherman had remarked that the ice was “ mighty 
poor out in that direction.” 

“ Won’t you please come off the river? ” she asked, nervously. 
“ I’ve seen all I wish.” 

“ It’s perfectly safe here.” 

“ But you were not here a moment since, and I’ve no confi- 
dence in your discretion when any one is in danger.” 

“ I did not run any risks worth speaking of.” 

“I think you did. The men explained, in answer to my 
questions, that the ice towards spring becomes honey-combed 
— that’s the way they expressed it — and lets one through 
without much warning. They also said the tides wore it away 
underneath about as fast as the rain and sun wasted the surface.” 

“ Supposing it had let me through, I should have caught on 
the pole, and so have easily scrambled out, while poor Mr. 
Barkdale would have been quite helpless.” 


FISHING THROUGH THE ICE. 


139 


“ Oh, I know it was right for you to go, and I know you will 
go again should there be the slightest occasion. Therefore I 
am eager to reach solid ground. Please, Webb.” 

Her tone was so earnest that he complied, and they were 
soon in the sleigh again. As they were driving up the hill she 
turned a shy glance towards him, and said, hesitatingly : “ Don’t 
mistake me, Webb. I am proud to think that you are so brave 
and uncalculating at times ; but then I — I never like to think 
that you are in danger. Remember how very much you are to 
us all.” 

“ Well, that is rather a new thought to me. Am I much to 
you ? ” 

“ Yes, you are,” she said, gravely and earnestly, looking him 
frankly in the face. “ From the first moment you spoke to me 
as ‘ sister Amy ’ you made the relation seem real. And then 
your manner is so strong and even that it’s restful to be with 
you. You may give one a terrible fright, as you did me this 
afternoon, but you would never make one nervous.” 

His face flushed with deep pleasure, but he made good her 
opinion by quietly changing the subject, and giving her a brisk, 
bracing drive over one of her favorite roads. 

All at the supper table agreed that the striped bass were de- 
licious, and Burt, as the recognized sportsman of the family, 
had much to say about the habits of this fine game fish. 
Among his remarks he explained that the “catch ” was small at 
present because the recent rain and melting snow had made 
the water of the river so fresh that the fish had been driven 
back towards the sea. “But they re-ascend,” he said, “as 
soon as the freshet subsides. They are a sea fish, and only 
ascend fresh-water streams for shelter in winter, and to breed 
in spring. They spawn in May, and by August the little fish 
will weigh a quarter of a pound. A good many are taken with 
seines after the ice breaks up, but I never had any luck with 
pole and line in the river. While striped bass are found all 
along the coast from Florida to Cape Cod, the largest fish are 


140 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


taken between the latter place and Montauk Point. I once 
had some rare sport off the east end of Long Island. I was 
still-fishing, with a pole and reel, and fastened on my hook a 
peeled shedder crab. My line was of linen, six hundred feet 
long, and no heavier than that used for trout, but very strong. 
By a quick movement which an old bass-fisherman taught me I 
made my bait dart like an arrow straight over the water more 
than one hundred feet, my reel at the same moment whirling, 
in paying out, as if it would fuse from friction. Well, I soon 
hooked a fifty-pound fish, and we had a tussle that I shall never 
forget. It took me an hour to tire him out, and I had to use 
all the skill I possessed to keep him from breaking the line. It 
was rare sport, I can tell you — the ‘finest bit of excitement I 
ever had fishing ; ” and the young fellow’s eyes sparkled at the 
memory. 

Strange as it may appear to some, his mother shared most 
largely in his enthusiasm. The reason was that, apart from the 
interest which she took in the pleasure of all her children, she 
lived much in her imagination, which was unusually strong, and 
Burt’s words called up a marine picture with an athletic young 
fellow in the foreground all on the qui vive, his blue eyes flash- 
ing with the sparkle and light of the sea as he matched his skill 
and science against a creature stronger than himself. “Are 
larger bass ever taken with rod and line? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, one weighing seventy-five pounds has been captured. 
Jupiter ! what sport it must have been ! ” 

“ How big do they grow, anyhow? ” Leonard queried. 

“To almost your size, Len, and that’s a heavy compliment 
to the bass. They have been known to reach the weight of 
one hundred and fifty pounds.” 


PLANNING AND OPENING THE CAMPAIGN. 141 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


PLANNING AND OPENING THE CAMPAIGN. 

HE last day of February was clear, cloudless, and cold, 



X the evening serene and still. Winter’s tempestuous course 
was run, its icy breath apparently had ceased, and darkness 
closed on its quiet, pallid face. 

“ March came in like a lamb” — an ominous circumstance 
for the future record of this month of most uncertain weather, 
according to the traditions of the old weather-prophets. The 
sun rose clear and warm, the snow sparkled and melted, the 
bluebirds rejoiced, and their soft notes of mutual congratulation 
found many echoes among their human neighbors. By noon 
the air was wonderfully soft and balmy, and Webb brought in a 
number of sprays from peach-trees cut in different parts of the 
place, and redeemed his promise to Amy, showing her the 
fruit germs, either green, or rather of a delicate gold-color, or 
else blackened by frost. She was astonished to find how per- 
fect the embryo blossom appeared under the microscope. It 
needed no glass, however, to reveal the blackened heart of the 
bud, and Webb, having cut through a goodly number, remarked : 
“ It would now appear as if nature had performed a very 
important labor for us, for I find about eight out of nine buds 
killed. It will save us thinning the fruit next summer, for if 
one ninth of the buds mature into peaches they will not only 
bring more money, but will measure more by the bushel.” 

“ How can one peach measure more than eight peaches? ” 

“By being larger than the eight. If all these buds grew 


142 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


into peaches, and were left on these slender boughs, the tree 
might be killed outright by overbearing, and would assuredly 
be much injured and disfigured by broken limbs and exhaus- 
tion, while the fruit itself would be so small and poor as to be 
unsalable. Thousands of trees annually perish from this cause, 
and millions of peaches are either not picked, or, if marketed, 
may bring the grower into debt for freight and other expenses. 
A profitable crop of peaches can only be grown by careful 
hand- thinning when they are as large as marbles, unless the 
frost does the work for us by killing the greater part of the 
buds. It is a dangerous ally, however, for our constant fear is 
that it will destroy all the buds. There are plenty left yet, and 
I find that cherry, apple, plum, and pear buds are still safe. In- 
deed, there is little fear for them as long as peach buds are not 
entirely destroyed, for they are much hardier.” 

In the afternoon Burt, who had become expert in the use of 
crutches, determined on an airing, and invited Amy to join him. 
“ I now intend to begin giving you driving lessons,” he said. 
“You will soon acquire entire confidence, for skill, far more 
than strength, is required. As long as one keeps cool and 
shows no fear there is rarely danger. Horses often catch their 
senseless panic from their drivers, and, even when frightened 
with good cause, can usually be re-assured by a few quiet words 
and a firm rein.” 

Amy was delighted at the prospect of a lesson in driving, 
especially as Burt, because of his lameness, did not venture to 
take his over-spirited steed Thunder. She sincerely hoped, 
however, that he would confine his thoughts and attentions to 
the ostensible object of the drive, for his manner at times was 
embarrassingly ardent. Burt was sufficiently politic to fulfil 
her hope, for he had many other drives in view, and had dis- 
covered that attentions not fraternal were unwelcome to Amy. 
With a self-restraint and prudence which he thought most 
praiseworthy and sagacious, but which were ludicrous in their 
limitations, he resolved to take a few weeks to make the im- 


PLANNING AND OPENING THE CAMPAIGN 1 43 


pressron which he had often succeeded in producing in a few 
hours, judging from the relentings and favors received in a 
rather extended career of gallantry, although it puzzled the 
young fellow that he could have been so fascinated on former 
occasions. He merely proposed that now she should enjoy the 
drive so thoroughly that she would wish to go again, and his 
effort met with entire success. 

During the first week of March there were many indications 
of the opening campaign on the Clifford farm. There was the 
overhauling and furbishing of weapons, otherwise tools, and the 
mending or strengthening of those in a decrepit state. A list 
of such additional ones as were wanted was made at this time, 
and an order sent for them at once. Amy also observed that 
practical Leonard was conning several catalogues of imple- 
ments. “ Len is always on the scent of some new patent hoe 
or cultivator,” Burt remarked. “ My game pays better than 
yours,” was the reply, “for the right kind of tools about 
doubles the effectiveness of labor.” 

The chief topic of discussion and form of industry at this 
time were the pruning and cleansing of trees, and Amy often 
observed Webb from her windows in what seemed to her most 
perilous positions in the tops of apple and other trees, with saw 
and pruning shears or nippers — a light little instrument with 
such a powerful leverage that a good-sized bough could b* 
lopped away by one slight pressure of the hand. 

“It seems to me,” remarked Leonard, one evening, “thav 
there is much diversity of opinion in regard to the time and 
method of trimming trees. While the majority of our neigh- 
bors prune in March, some say fall or winter is the best time. 
Others are in favor of June, and in some paper I’ve read, 
‘ Prune when your knife is sharp.’ As for cleansing the bark 
of the trees, very few take the trouble.” 

“Well,” replied his father, “I’ve always performed these 
labors in March with good results. I have often observed that 
taking off large limbs from old and feeble trees is apt to injure 


144 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 




them. A decay begins at the point of amputation and extends 
down into the body of the tree. Sap-suckers and other wood- 
peckers, in making their nests, soon excavate this rotten wood 
back into the trunk, to which the moisture of every storm is 
admitted, and the life of the tree is shortened.” 

At this point Webb went out, and soon returned with some- 
thing like exultation blending with his usually grave expression. 

“ I think father’s views are correct, and I have confirmation 
here in autograph letters from three of the most eminent horti- 
culturists in the world — ” 

“ Good gracious, Webb ! don’t take away our breath in that 
style,” exclaimed Burt. “ Have you autograph letters from 
several autocrats also?” 

As usual Webb ignored his brother’s nonsense, and resumed : 
“ The first is from the Hon. Marshall P. Wilder, President of 
the American Pomological Society, and is as follows : ‘ I prune 
my trees early in March, as soon as the heavy frosts are over, 
when the sap is dormant. If the branch is large I do not cut 
quite close in, and recut close in June, when the wound heals 
more readily. I do not approve of rigorous pruning of old 
trees showing signs of feebleness. Such operations would in- 
crease decline — only the dead wood should be removed, the 
loss of live wood depriving old trees of the supply of sap which 
they need for support. Grafting-wax is good to cover the 
wounds of trees, or a thick paint of the color of the bark an- 
swers well. Trees also may be pruned in safety in June after 
the first growth is made — then the wounds heal quickly.’ 

“The next letter is from Mr. Charles Downing, editor of 
‘The Fruits and Fruit-Trees of America.’ ‘When the extreme 
cold weather is over,’ he says, ‘ say the last of February or first 
of March, begin to trim trees, and finish as rapidly as conven- 
ient. Do not trim a tree too much at one time, and cut no 
large limbs if possible, but thin out the small branches. If the 
trees are old and bark-bound, scrape off the roughest bark and 
wash the bodies and large limbs with whale-oil soap, or soft- 


PLANNING AND OPENING THE CAMPAIGN. 145 


soap such as the farmers make, putting it on quite thick. Give 
the ground plenty of compost manure, bone-dust, ashes, and 
salt. The best and most convenient preparation for covering 
wounds is gurti-shellac dissolved in alcohol to the thickness of 
paint, and put on with a brush.’ The last is from Mr. Patrick 
Barry, of the eminent Rochester firm, and author of ‘ The Fruit 
Garden.’ ‘ In our climate pruning may be done at conven- 
ience, from the fall of the leaf until the 1st of April. In resusci- 
tating old neglected apple-trees, rigorous pruning may be com- 
bined with ploughing and manuring of the ground. For cover- 
ing wounds made in pruning, nothing is better than common 
grafting- wax laid on warm with a brush.’ Hon. P. T. Quinn, 
in his work on ‘ Pear Culture ’ writes : ‘ On our own place we 
begin to prune our pear-trees from the 1st to the 15 th of 
March, and go on with the work through April. It is not best 
to do much cutting, except on very young trees, while the foli- 
age is coming out.’ ” 

"Well,” remarked Leonard, "I can go to work to-morrow 
with entire content ; and very pleasant work it is, too, especially 
on the young trees, where by a little forethought and a few cuts 
one can regulate the form and appearance of the future tree.” 

“ How is that possible? ” Amy asked. 

“ Well, you see there are plenty of buds on all the young 
branches, and we can cut a branch just above the bud we wish 
to grow, which will continue to grow in the direction in which 
it points. Thus we can shape each summer’s growth in any 
direction we choose.” 

“ How can you be sure to find a bud just where you want 
it?” 

“ I know we always do.” 

“ Of course we do,” said Webb, “ for buds are arranged spi- 
rally on trees in mathematical order. On most trees it is termed 
the ‘ five-ranked arrangement,’ and every bud is just two-fifths 
of the circumference of the stem from the next. This will 
bring every sixth bud or leaf over the first, or the one we start 


146 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


with. Thus in the length of stem occupied by five buds you 
have buds facing in five different directions — plenty of choice 
for all pruning purposes.” 

“Oh, nonsense, Webb; you are too everlastingly scientific. 
Buds and leaves are scattered at hap-hazard all over the 
branches.” 

“That shows you observe at hap-hazard. Wait, and I’ll 
prove I’m right ; ” and he seized his hat and went out. Re- 
turning after a few minutes with long, slender shoots of peach, 
apple, and pear trees, he said : “Now put your finger on any 
bud, and count. See if the sixth bud does not stand invariably 
over the one you start from, and if the intervening buds do not 
wind spirally twice around the stem, each facing in a different 
direction.” 

The result proved Webb to be right. He laughed, and said : 
“There, Len, you’ve seen buds and branches for over forty 
years, and never noticed this. Here, Alf, you begin right, and 
learn to see things just as they are. There’s no telling how 
often accurate knowledge may be useful.” 

“ But, Webb, all plants have not the five-ranked arrangement, 
as you term it,” his mother protested. 

“ Oh no. Thei;e is the two-ranked, in which the third leaf 
stands over the first ; the three-ranked, in which the fourth leaf 
stands over the first. Then we also find the eighth and thir- 
teenth ranked arrangements, according to the construction of 
various species of plants or trees. But having once observed 
an arrangement of buds or leaves in a species, you will find it 
maintained with absolute symmetry and accuracy, although the 
spaces between the buds lengthwise upon the stem may vary 
very much. Nature, with all her seeming carelessness and 
abandon , works on strict mathematical principles.” 

“ Well,” said Alf, “ I’m going to see if you are right to-mor- 
row. I don’t half believe you are.” And on the following day 
he tried his best to prove Webb wrong, but failed. 

Before the week was over there was a decided return of 


PLANNING AND OPENING THE CAMPAIGN. 147 


winter. The sky lost its spring-like blue. Cold, ragged clouds 
were driven wildly by a northeast gale, which, penetrating the 
heaviest wraps, caused a shivering sense of discomfort. Only 
by the most vigorous exercise could one cope with the raw, icy 
wind, and yet the effort to do so brought a rich return in warm, 
purified blood. All out-door labor, except such as required 
strong, rapid action, came to an end, for it was the very season 
and opportunity for pneumonia to seize upon its chilled victim. 
To a family constituted like the Cliffords such weather brought 
no ennui. They had time for more music and reading aloud 
than usual. The pets in the flower-room needed extra care 
and watching, for the bitter wind searched out every crevice 
and cranny. Entering the dining-room on one occasion, Amy 
found the brothers poring over a map spread out on the table. 

“ What ! studying geography?” she said. “ It certainly is a 
severe stress of weather that has brought you all to that. What 
countries are you exploring?” 

“ These are our Western Territories,” Burt promptly re- 
sponded. “This prominent point here is Fort Totem, and 
these indications of adjacent buildings are for the storage of 
furs, bear-meat, and the accommodation of Indian hunters.” 
Burt tried to look serious, but Webb’s and Leonard’s laughter 
betrayed him. Amy turned inquiringly to Webb, as she ever 
did when perplexed. 

“Don’t mind Burt’s chaff,” he said. “This is merely a map 
of the farm, and we are doing a little planning for our spring 
work — deciding what crop we shall put on that field and how 
treat this one, etc. You can see, Amy, that each field is num- 
bered, and here in this book are corresponding numbers, with 
a record of the crops grown upon each field for a good many 
years back, to what extent and how often they have been en- 
riched, and the kind of fertilizers used. Of course such a book 
of manuscript would be the dreariest prose in the world to you, 
but it is exceedingly interesting to us ; and wAat’s more, these 
past records are the best possible guides for future action.” 


148 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“Oh, I know all about your book now,” she said, with an air 
of entire confidence, “ for I’ve heard papa say that land and 
crop records have been kept in England for generations. I 
don’t think I will sit up nights to read your manuscript, how- 
ever. If Burt’s version had been true, it might have been quite 
exciting.” 

She did enjoy aiding Mr. and Mrs. Clifford in overhauling 
the seed-chest, however. This was a wooden box, all tinned 
over to keep out the mice, and was divided into many little 
compartments, in which were paper bags of seeds, with the date 
on which they were gathered or purchased. Some of the seeds 
were condemned because too old ; others, like those of melons 
and cucumbers, improved with a moderate degree of age, she 
was told. Mrs. Clifford brought out from her part of the chest 
a rich store of flower seeds, and the young girl looked with 
much curiosity on the odd-appearing little grains and scale-like 
objects in which, in miniature, was wrapped some beautiful and 
fragrant plant. “Queer little promises, ain’t they?” said the 
old lady ; “ for every seed is a promise to me.” 

“ I tell you what it is, Amy,” the old gentleman remarked, 
“ this chest contains the assurance of many a good dinner and 
many a beautiful bouquet. Now, like a good girl, help us make 
an inventory. We will first have a list of what we may consider 
trustworthy seeds on hand, and then, with the aid of these 
catalogues, we can make out another list of what we shall buy. 
Seed catalogues, with their long list of novelties, never lose 
their fascination for me. I know that most of the new things 
are not half so good as the old tried sorts, but still I like to try 
some every year. It’s a harmless sort of gambling, you see, 



then I draw a genuine prize. Mother has the 
Lia far worse than I, as is evident from the way she 


goes into me flower novelties.” 

“I own up to it,” said Mrs. Clifford, “and I do love to see 
the almost endless diversity in beauty which one species of 
plants will exhibit. Why, do you know, Amy, I grew from 


PLANNING AND OPENING THE CAMPAIGN 149 

seeds one summer fifty distinct varieties of the dianthus. Sup- 
pose we take asters this year, and see how many distinct kinds 
we can grow. Here, in this catalogue, is a. long list of named 
varieties, and, in addition, there are packages of mixed seeds 
from which we may get something distinct from all the others.” 

“ How full of zest life becomes in the country,” cried Amy, 
“ if one only goes to work in the right way ! ” Life was grow- 
ing fuller and richer to her every day in the varied and abound- 
ing interests of the family with which she was now entirely 
identified. 

“ Webb,” his mother asked at dinner, “ how do you explain 
the varying vitality of seeds ? Some we can keep six or eight 
years, and others only two.” 

“ That’s a question I am unable to answer. It cannot be the 
amount of material stored up in the cotyledons, or embryo seed 
leaves, for small seeds like the beet and cucumber will retain 
their vitality ten years, and lettuce, turnip, and tomato seed five 
or more years, while I do not care to plant large, fleshy seeds 
like pease and beans that are over three years old, and much 
prefer those gathered the previous season. The whole question 
of the germinating of seeds is a curious one. Wheat taken 
from the wrappings of an Egyptian mummy has grown. Many 
seeds appear to have a certain instinct when to grow, and will 
lie dormant in the ground for indefinite periods waiting for 
favorable conditions. For instance, sow wood-ashes copiously 
and you speedily have a crop of white clover. Again, when 
one kind of timber is cut from land, another and diverse kind 
will spring up, as if the soil were full of seeds that had been 
biding their time. For all practical purposes the duration of 
vitality is known, and is usually given in seed catalogues, I 
think, or ought to be.” 

“ Some say that certain fertilizers or conditions will produce 
certain kinds of vegetation without the aid of seeds — just 
develop them, you know,” Leonard remarked. 

“ Develop them from what ? ” 


150 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ That’s the question.” 

“ Well, I think the sensible answer is that all vegetation is 
developed from seeds, spores, or whatever was designed to con- 
tinue the chain of being from one plant to another. For the 
life of me I can’t see how mere organic or inorganic matter 
can produce life. It can only sustain and nourish the life which 
exists in it or is placed in it, and which by a law of nature 
develops when the conditions are favorable. I am quite sure 
that there is not an instance on record of the spontaneous pro- 
duction of life, even down to the smallest animalcule in liquids, 
or the minutest plant life that Is propagated by invisible spores. 
That the microscope does not reveal these spores or germs 
proves nothing, for the strongest microscope in the world, has 
not begun to reach the final atom of which matter is composed. 
Indeed, it would seem to be as limited in its power to explore 
the infinitely little and near as the telescope to reveal the infi- 
nitely distant and great. Up to this time science has discovered 
nothing to contravene the assurance that God, or some one, 
‘ created every living creature that moveth, and every herb 
yielding seed after his kind.’ After a series of most careful and 
accurate experiments, Professor Tyndall could find no proof of 
the spontaneous production of even microscopic life, and found 
much proof to the contrary. How far original creations are 
changed or modified by evolution, natural selection, is a ques- 
tion that is to be settled neither by dogmatism on the one hand, 
nor by baseless theories on the other, but by facts, and plenty 
of them.” 

“Do you think there is anything atheistical in evolution?” 
his mother asked, and with some solicitude in her large eyes, 
for, like all trained in the old beliefs, she felt that the new phi- 
losophies led away into a realm of vague negations. Webb 
understood her anxiety lest the faith shediad taught him should 
become unsettled, and he re-assured her in a characteristic way. 

“ No, mother,” he said. “ If evolution is the true expla- 
nation of the world, as it now appears to us, it is no more 


PLANNING AND OPENING THE CAMPAIGN. 15 1 


atheistical than some theologies I have heard preached, which 
contained plenty of doctrines and attributes, but no God. If 
God with his infinite leisure chooses to evolve his universe, why 
shouldn’t he? In any case a creative, intelligent power is 
equally essential. It would be just as easy for me to believe 
that all the watches and jewelry at Tiffany’s were the result of 
fortuitous causes as to believe that the world as we find it has 
no mind back of it.” 

Mother smiled with satisfaction, for she saw that he still stood 
just where she did, only his horizon had widened. 

“ Well,” said his father, contentedly, “ I read much in the 
papers and magazines of theories and isms of which I never 
heard when I was young, but eighty years of experience have 
convinced me that the Lord reigns.” 

They all laughed at this customary settlement of knotty 
problems on the part of the old gentleman, and Burt, rising 
from the table, looked out, with the remark that the prospects 
were that “ the Lord would rain heavily that afternoon.” The 
oldest and most infallible weather-prophet in the region — 
Storm King — was certainly giving portentous indications of a 
storm of no ordinary dimensions. The vapor was pouring over 
its summit in Niagara-like volume, and the wind, no longer 
rushing with its recent boisterous roar, was moaning and sighing 
as if nature was in pain and trouble. The barometer, which 
had been low for two days, sank lower ; the temperature rose 
as the gale veered to the eastward. This fact, and the moisture- 
laden atmosphere, indicated that it came from the Gulf Stream 
region of the Atlantic. The rain, which began with a fine 
drizzle, increased fast, and soon fell in blinding sheets. The 
day grew dusky early, and the twilight was brief and obscure ; 
then followed a long night of Egyptian darkness, through which 
the storm rushed, warred, and splashed with increasing vehe- 
mence. Before the evening was over, the sound of tumultu- 
ously flowing water became an appreciable element in the 
uproar without, and Webb, opening a window on the sheltered 


52 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


side of the house, called Amy to hear the torrents pouring down 
the sides of Storm King. 

“What tremendous alternations of mood Nature indulges 
in ! ” she said, as she came shivering back to the fire. “ Con- 
trast such a, night with a sunny June day.” 

“ It would seem as if ‘ mild; ethereal spring ’ had got her 
back up,” Burt remarked, “ and regarding the return of winter 
as a trespass, had taken him by the throat, determined to have 
it out once for all. Something will give way before morning, 
probably half our bridges.” 

“Well, that is a way of explaining the jar among the elements 
that I had not thought of,” she said, laughing. 

“You needn’t think Webb can do all the explaining. I have 
my theories also — sounder than his, too, most of ’em.” 

“ There is surely no lack of sound accompanying your theory 
to-night. Indeed, it is not all ‘ sound and fury ’ ! ” 

“ It’s all the more impressive, then. What’s the use of your 
delicate, weak-backed theories that require a score of centuries 
to substantiate them?” 

“Your theory about the bridges will soon be settled,” re- 
marked Leonard, ominously, “and I fear it will prove correct. 
At this rate the town will have to pay for half a dozen new ones 
— bridges, I mean.” 

“ Well amended,” added Webb. 

“ Just hear the rain ! ” said Leonard, ruefully. There was a 
heavy body of snow still in the mountains and on northern 
slopes, and much ice on the streams and ponds. “ There cer- 
tainly will be no little trouble if this continues.” 

“Don’t worry, children,” said Mr. Clifford, quietly. “I 
have generally found everything standing after the storms were 
over.” 


SHE (STOLE NOISELESSLY DOWN TIIE STAIRWAY.” 









WINTER'S EXIT. 


153 


CHAPTER XIX. 


winter’s exit. 



HE old house seemed so full of strange sounds that Amy 


JL found it impossible to sleep. Seasoned as were its tim- 
bers, they creaked and groaned, and the casements rattled as 
if giant hands were seeking to open them. The wind at times 
would sigh and sob so mournfully, like a human voice, that her 
imagination peopled the darkness with strange creatures in dis- 
tress, and then she would shudder as a more violent gust raised 
the prolonged wail into a loud shriek. Thoughts of her dead 
father — not the resigned, peaceful thoughts which the knowl- 
edge of his rest had brought of late — came surging into her 
mind. Her organization was peculiarly fine and especially sen- 
sitive to excited atmospherical conditions, and the tumult of 
the night raised in her mind an irrepressible, although unrea- 
soning, panic. At last she felt that she would scream if she 
remained alone any longer. She put on her wrapper, purposing 
to ask Mrs. Leonard to come and stay with her for a time, 
feeling assured that if she could only speak to some one, the 
horrid spell of nervous fear would be broken. As she stepped 
into the hall she saw a light gleaming from the open door of 
the sitting-room, and in the hope that some one was still up, 
she stole noiselessly down the stairway to a point that com- 
manded a view of the apartment. Only Webb was there, and 
he sat quietly reading by the shaded lamp and flickering fire. 
The scene and his very attitude suggested calmness and safety. 
There was nothing to be .afraid of, and he was not afraid. With 


154 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


every moment that she watched him the nervous agitation passed 
from mind and body. His strong, intent profile proved that 
he was occupied wholly with the thought of his author. The 
quiet deliberation with which he turned the leaves was more 
potent than soothing words. “ I wouldn’t for the world have 
him know I’m so weak and foolish,” she said to herself, as she 
crept noiselessly back to her room. “ He little dreamed who 
was watching him,” she whispered, smilingly, as she dropped 
asleep. 

When she waked next morning the rain had ceased, the wind 
blew in fitful gusts, and the sky was still covered with wildly 
hurrying clouds that seemed like the straggling rear-guard 
which the storm had left behind. So far as she could see from 
her window, everything was still standing, as Mr. Clifford had 
said. Familiar objects greeted her re-assuringly, and never 
before had the light even of a lowering morning seemed more 
blessed in contrast with the black, black night. As she recalled 
the incidents of that night — her nervous panic, and the scene 
which had brought quiet and peace — she smiled again, and, it 
must be admitted, blushed slightly. “ I wonder if he affects 
others as he does me,” she thought. “ Papa used to say, when 
I was a little thing, that I was just a bundle of nerves, but when 
Webb is near I am not conscious I ever had a nerve.” 

Every little brook had become a torrent; Moodna Creek 
was reported to be in angry mood, and the family hastened 
through breakfast that they might drive out to see the floods 
and the possible devastation. Several bridges over the smaller 
streams had barely escaped, and the Idlewild brook, whose 
spring and summer music the poet Willis had caused to be 
heard even in other lands, now gave forth a hoarse roar from 
the deep glen through which it raved. An iron bridge over the 
Moodna, on the depot road, had evidently been in danger in 
the night. The ice had been piled up in the road at each end 
of the bridge, and a cottage a little above it was surrounded by 
huge cakes. The inmates had realized their danger, for part 


WINTER'S EXIT. 


155 


of their furniture had been carried to higher ground. Although 
the volume of water passing was still immense, all danger was 
now over. As they were looking at the evidences of the vio- 
lent breaking up of winter, the first phoebe-bird of the season 
alighted in a tree overhanging the torrent, and in her plaintive 
notes seemed to say, as interpreted by John Burroughs, “ If you 
please, spring has come.” They gave the brown little harbinger 
such an enthusiastic welcome that she speedily took flight to 
the farther shore. 

“ Where was that wee bit of life last night?” said Webb; 
“ and how could it keep up heart? ” 

“ Possibly it looked in at a window and saw some one read- 
ing,” thought Amy ; and she smiled so sweetly at the conceit 
that Webb asked, “ How many pennies will you take for your 
thoughts? ” 

“ They are not in the market ; ” and she laughed outright as 
she turned away. 

“ The true place to witness the flood will be at the old red 
bridge farther down the stream,” said Leonard ; and they drove 
as rapidly as the bad wheeling permitted to that point, and 
found that Leonard was right. Just above the bridge was a 
stone dam, by which the water was backed up a long distance, 
and a precipitous wooded bank rose on the south side. This 
had shielded the ice from the sun, and it was still very thick 
when the pressure of the flood came upon it. Up to this time 
it had not given way, and had become the cause of an ice- 
gorge that every moment grew more threatening. The impeded 
torrent chafed and ground the cakes together, surging them up 
at one point and permitting them to sink at another, as the im- 
prisoned waters struggled for an outlet. The solid ice still held 
near the edge of the dam, although it was beginning to lift and 
crack with the tawny flood pouring over, under, and around it. 

“ Suppose we cross to the other side, nearest home,” said 
Burt, who was driving ; and with the word he whipped up the 
horses and dashed through the old covered structure, 


iS6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ You ought not to have done that, Burt,” said Webb, almost 
sternly. “ The gorge may give way at any moment, and the 
bridge will probably go with it. We shall now have to drive 
several hundred yards to a safe place to leave the horses, for 
the low ground on this side will probably be flooded.” 

“ It certainly will be,” added Leonard. 

“ Oh, make haste ! ” cried Amy ; and they all noticed that 
she was trembling. 

But a few minutes sufficed to tie the horses and return to a 
point of safety near the bridge. “ I did not mean to expose 
you to the slightest danger,” Burt whispered, tenderly, to Amy. 
“ See, the bridge is safe enough, and we might drive over it 
again.” 

Even as he spoke there was a long grinding, crunching sound. 
A great volume of black water had forced its way under the 
gorge, and now lifted it bodily over the dam. It sank in a 
chaotic mass, surged onward and upward again, struck the 
bridge, and in a moment lifted it from its foundations and 
swept it away, a shattered wreck, the red covering showing in 
the distance like ensanguined stains among the tossing cakes 
of ice. 

They all drew a long breath, and Amy was as pale as if she 
had witnessed the destruction of some living creature. No 
doubt she realized what would have been their fate had the 
break occurred while they were crossing. 

“ Good-by, old bridge,” said Leonard, pensively. “ I played 
and fished under you when a boy, and in the friendly dusk of 
its cover I kissed Maggie one summer afternoon of our court- 
ing days — ” 

“ Well, well,” exclaimed Burt, “ the old bridge’s exit has been 
a moving object in every sense, since it has evoked such a flood 
of sentiment from Len. Let us take him home to Maggie at 
once.” 

As they were about to depart they saw Dr. Marvin driving 
down to the opposite Side, and they mockingly beckoned him 


WINTER'S EXIT 


J 57 



to cross the raging torrent. He shook his head ruefully, and 
returned up the hill again. A rapid drive through the Moodna 
Valley brought them to the second bridge, which would evi- 
dently escape, for the flats above it were covered with debris 
and ice, and the main channel was sufficiently clear to permit 
the flood to pass harmlessly on. They then took the river road 
homeward. 


THE SWAMP CABBAGE FLOWER. 


The bridge over the Idlewild brook, near its entrance into 
the Moodna, was safe, although it had a narrow graze. They 
also found that the ice in the river at the mouth of the creek 
had been broken up in a wide semicircle, and as they ascended 
a hill that commanded an extensive view of Newburgh Bay they 
saw that the ice remaining had a black, sodcTen appearance. 

“ It will all break up in a few hours,” said Burt, “ and then 
hurrah for duck-shooting ! ” 

Although spring had made such a desperate onset the pre- 
vious night, it seemed to have gained but a partial advantage 


j 5 8 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


over winter. The weather continued raw and blustering for 
several days, and the overcast sky permitted but chance and 
watery gleams of sunshine. Slush and mud completed the 
ideal of the worst phase of March. The surface of the earth 
had apparently returned to that period before the dry land was 
made to appear. As the frost came out of the open spaces of 
the garden, ploughed fields, and even the country roads, they 
became quagmires in which one sank indefinitely. Seeing the 
vast advantage afforded to the men-folk by rubber boots, Amy 
provided herself with a pair, and with something of the exul- 
tation of the ancient Hebrews passed dry-shod through the 
general moisture. 


A ROYAL CAPTIVE . 


159 


CHAPTER XX. 

A ROYAL CAPTIVE. 

I N the midst of this dreary transition period Nature gave 
proof that she has unlimited . materials of beauty at her 
command at any time. Early one afternoon the brothers were 
driven in from their out-door labors by a cold, sleety rain, and 
Leonard predicted an ice-storm. The next morning the world 
appeared as if heavily plated with silver. The sun at last was 
unclouded, and as he looked over the top of Storm King his 
long-missed beams transformed the landscape into a scene of 
wonder and beauty beyond anything described in Johnnie’s 
fairy tales. Trees, shrubs, the roofs and sidings of the build- 
ings, the wooden and even the stone fences, the spires of dead 
grass, and the unsightly skeletons of weeds, were all incased 
in ice and touched by the magic wand of beauty. The moun- 
tain-tops, however, surpassed all other objects in the transfig- 
ured world, for upon them a heavy mist had rested and frozen, 
clothing every branch and spray with a feathery frost-work of 
crystals, which, in the sun-lighted distance, was like a great shock 
of silver hair. There were drawbacks, however, to this mar- 
vellous scene. There were not a few branches already broken 
from the trees, and Mr. Clifford said that if the wind rose the 
weight of the ice would cause great destruction. They all 
hastened through breakfast, Leonard and Webb that they might 
relieve the more valuable fruit and evergreen trees of the weight 
of ice, and Burt and Amy for a drive up the mountain. 

As they slowly ascended, the scene under the increasing sun- 


i6o 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


light took on every moment more strange and magical effects. 
The ice-incased twigs and boughs acted as prisms, and reflected 
every hue of the rainbow, and as they approached the summit 
the feathery frost-work grew more and more exquisitely delicate 
and beautiful, and yet it was proving to be as evanescent as a 
dream, for in all sunny places it was already vanishing. They 
had scarcely passed beyond the second summit when Burt 
uttered an exclamation of regretful disgust. “ By all that’s 
unlucky,” he cried, “ if there isn’t an eagle sitting on yonder 
ledge ! I could kill him with bird-shot, and I haven’t even a 
popgun with me.” 

“ It’s too bad,” sympathized Amy. “ Let us drive as near as 
we can, and get a good view before he flies.” 

To their great surprise, he did not move as they approached, 
but only glared at them with his savage eye. 

“Well,” said Burt, “after trying for hours to get within rifle 
range, this exceeds anything I ever saw. I wonder if he is 
wounded and cannot fly.” Suddenly he sprang out, and took 
a strap from the harness. “ Hold the horse, Amy. I think I 
know what is the trouble with his majesty, and we may be able 
to return with a royal captive.” 

He drew near the eagle slowly and warily, and soon perceived 
that he was incased in ice from head to foot, and only retained 
the power of slightly moving his head. The creature was com- 
pletely helpless, and must remain so until his icy fetters thawed 
out. His wings were frozen to his sides, his legs covered with 
ice, as were also his talons, and the dead branch of a low pine 
on which he had perched hours before. Icicles hung around 
him, making a most fantastic fringe. Only his defiant eye and 
open beak could give expression to his untamed, undaunted 
spirit. It was evident that the bird made a fierce internal 
struggle to escape, but was held as in a vise. 

Burt was so elated that his hand trembled with eagerness ; 
but he resolved to act prudently, and grasping the bird firmly 
but gently by the neck, he succeeded in severing the branch 


A ROYAL CAPTIVE. 


161 

upon which the eagle was perched, for it was his purpose to 
exhibit the bird just as he had found him. Having carefully 
carried his prize to the buggy, he induced Amy, who viewed 
the creature with mingled wonder and alarm, to receive this 
strange addition to their number for the homeward journey. 
He wrapped her so completely with the carriage robe that the 
eagle could not injure her with his beak, and she saw he could 
no more move in other respects than a block of ice. As an 
additional precaution, Burt passed the strap around the bird’s 
neck and tied him to the dash-board. Even with his heavy 
gloves he had to act cautiously, for the eagle in his disabled 
state could still strike a powerful blow. Then, with an exulta- 
tion beyond all words, he drove to Dr. Marvin’s, in order to 
have one of the “ loudest crows ” over him that he had ever 
enjoyed. The doctor did not mind the “crow” in the least, 
but was delighted with the adventure and capture, for the whole 
affair had just the flavor to please him. As he was a skilful tax- 
idermist, he good-naturedly promised to “ set the eagle up ” on 
the self-same branch on which he had been found, for it was 
agreed that he would prove too dangerous a pet to keep in the 
vicinity of the irrepressible little Ned. Indeed, from the look of 
this fellow’s eye, it was evident that he would be dangerous to 
any one. “ I will follow you home, and after you have exhibited 
him we will kill him scientifically. He is a splendid specimen, 
and not a feather need be ruffled.” 

Burt drove around to the Rev. Mr. Barkdale’s and some 
others of his nearest neighbors and friends in a sort of trium- 
phal progress ; but Amy grew uneasy at her close proximity to 
so formidable a companion, fearing that he would thaw out. 
Many were the exclamations of wonder and curiosity when they 
reached home. Alf went nearly wild, and little Johnnie’s eyes 
overflowed with tears when she learned that the regal bird must 
die. As for Ned, had he not been restrained he would have 
given the eagle a chance to devour him. 

“ So, Burt, you have your eagle after all,” said his mother, 


1 62 NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 

looking with more pleasure and interest on the flushed, eager 
face of her handsome boy than upon his captive. “ Well, you 
and Amy have had an adventure.” 

“ I always have good fortune and good times when you are 
with me,” Burt whispered in an aside to Amy. 

“Always is a long time,” she replied, turning away; but he 
was too excited to note that she did not reciprocate his manner, 
and he was speedily engaged in a discussion as to the best 
method of preserving the eagle in the most life-like attitude. 
After a general family council it was decided that his future 
perch should be in a corner of the parlor, and within a few 
days he occupied it, looking so natural that callers were often 
startled by his life-like appearance. 

“ Think how his mate must miss him ! ” Maggie would often 
say, remorsefully. 

As the day grew old the ice on the trees melted and fell away 
in myriads of gemlike drops. Although the sun shone brightly, 
there was a sound without as of rain. By four in the afternoon 
the pageant was over, the sky clouded again, and the typical 
March outlook was re-established. 


SPRING'S HARBINGERS 


163 


CHAPTER XXL 


spring’s harbingers. 



MY was awakened on the following morning by innumer- 


l\. able bird-notes, not songs, but loud calls. Hastening to 
the window, she witnessed a scene very strange to her eyes. 
All over the grass of the lawn and on the ground of the orchard 
beyond was a countless flock of what seemed to her quarter- 
grown chickens. A moment later the voice of Alf resounded 
through the house, crying, “ The robins have come ! ” Very 
soon nearly all the household were on the piazza to greet these 
latest arrivals from the South ; and a pretty scene of life and 
animation they made, with their yellow bills, jaunty black heads, 
and brownish red breasts. 

“ Turdus migratorius , as the doctor would say,” remarked 
Burt ; “ and migrants they are with a vengeance. Last night 
there was not one to be seen, and now here are thousands. 
They are on their way north, and have merely alighted to 
feed.” 

“ Isn’t it odd how they keep their distance from each other?” 
said Webb. “ You can scarcely see two near together, but every 
few feet there is a robin, as far as the eye can reach. Yes, and 
there are some high-holders in the orchard also. They are 
shyer than the robins, and don’t come so near the house. You 
can tell them, Amy, by their yellow bodies and brown wings. 
I have read that they usually migrate with the robins. I won- 
der how far this flock flew last — ah, listen ! ” 

Clear and sweet came an exquisite bird-song from an adjacent 


164 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


maple. Webb took off his hat in respectful greeting to the 
minstrel. 

“ Why,” cried Amy, “ that little brown bird cannot be a 
robin.” 

“ No,” he answered, “ that is my favorite of all the earliest 
birds — the song-sparrow. You remember what Dr. Marvin 
said about him the other evening? I have been looking for my 
little friend for a week past, and here he is. The great tide of 
migration has turned northward.” 

“ He is my favorite too,” said his father. “ Every spring for 
over seventy years I remember hearing his song, and it is just 
as sweet and fresh to me as ever. Indeed, it is enriched by a 
thousand memories.” 

For two or three days the robins continued plentiful around 
the house, and their loud “ military calls,” as Burroughs de- 
scribes them, were heard at all hours from before the dawn 
into the dusk of night, but they seemed to be too excited over 
their northward journey or their arrival at their old haunts to 
indulge in the leisure of song. They reminded one of the ad- 
vent of an opera company. There was incessant chattering, a 
flitting to and fro, bustle and excitement, each one having much 
to say, and no one apparently stopping to listen. The majority 
undoubtedly continued their migration, for the great flocks dis- 
appeared. It is said that the birds that survive the vicissitudes 
of the year return to their former haunts, and it would seem 
that they drop out of the general advance as they reach the 
locality of the previous summer’s nest, to which they are guided 
by an unerring instinct. 

The evening of the third day after their arrival was compara- 
tively mild, and the early twilight serene and quiet. The family 
were just sitting down to supper when they heard a clear, mel- 
low whistle, so resonant and penetrating as to arrest their at- 
tention although doors and windows were closed. Hastening 
to the door they saw on the top of one of the tallest elms a 
robin, wit4 his crimson breast lighted up by the setting sun, 


SPRING'S HARBINGERS. 


165 

and his little head lifted heavenward in the utterance of what 
seemed the perfection of an evening hymn. Indeed, in that 
bleak, dim March evening, with the long, chill night fast falling 
and the stormy weeks yet to come, it would be hard to find a 
finer expression of hope and faith. 

The robin is a bird of contrasts. Peculiarly domestic in his 
haunts and habits, he resembles his human neighbors in more 
respects than one. He is much taken up with his material life, 
and is very fond of indulging his large appetite. He is far from 
being aesthetic in his house or housekeeping, and builds a strong, 
coarse nest of the handiest materials and in the handiest place, 
selecting the latter with a confidence in boy-nature and cat- 
nature that is often misplaced. He is noisy, bustling, and im- 
portant, and as ready to make p raid on a cherry-tree or a 
strawberry-bed as is the average youth to visit a melon-patch 
by moonlight. He has a careless, happy-go-lucky air, unless 
irritated, and then is as eager for a “ square set-to ” in robin 
fashion as the most approved scion of chivalry. Like man, he , 
also seems to have a spiritual element in his nature ; and, as if 
inspired and lifted out of his grosser self by the dewy freshness 
of the morning and the shadowy beauty of the evening, he 
sings like a saint, and his pure, sweet notes would never lead 
one to suspect that he was guilty of habitual gormandizing. 
He settles down into a good husband and father, and, in brief, 
reminds one of the sturdy English squire who is sincerely de- 
vout over his prayer-book on proper occasions, and between 
times takes all the goods the gods send. 

In the morning little Johnnie came to the breakfast- table in 
a state of great excitement. It soon appeared that she had a 
secret that she would tell no one but Amy — indeed, she would 
not tell it, but show it ; and after breakfast she told Amy to put 
on her rubber boots and come with her, warning curious Alf 
meanwhile to keep his distance. Leading the way to a sunny 
angle in the garden fence, she showed Amy the first flower of 
the year. Although it was a warm, sunny spot, the snow had 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


1 66 

drifted there to such an extent that the icy base of the drift 
still partially covered the ground, and through a weak place in 
the melting ice a snow-drop had pushed its green, succulent 
leaves mid hung out its modest little blossom. The child, 
brought up from infancy to feel the closest sympathy with 
nature, fairly trembled with delight over this avant-coitreur of 
the innumerable flowers which it was her chief happiness to 
gather. As if in sympathy with the exultation of the child, and 
in appreciation of all that the pale little blossom foreshadowed, 
a song-sparrow near trilled out its sweetest lay, a robin took up 
the song, and a pair of bluebirds passed overhead with their 
undulating flight and soft warble. Truly spring had come in 
that nook of the old garden, even though the mountains were 
still covered with snow, the river was full of floating ice, and 
the wind chill with the breath of winter. Could there have 
been a fairer or more fitting committee of reception than little 
Johnnie, believing in all things, hoping all things, and brown- 
haired, hazel-eyed Amy, with the first awakenings of woman- 
hood in her heart? 


FIRST times: 


1 67 


CHAPTER XXII. 


“ FIRST TIMES.” 


W 



T last Nature was truly awakening, and color was coming 


£~ jL into her pallid face. On every side were increasing move- 
ment and evidences of life. Sunny hillsides were free from 
snow, and the oozing frost loosed the hold of stones upon the 
soil or the clay of precipitous banks, leaving them to the play 
of gravitation. Will the world become level if there are no 
more upheavals ? The ice of the upper Hudson was journey- 
ing towards the sea that it would never reach. The sun smote 
it, the high winds ground the honey-combed cakes together, 
and the ebb and flow of the tide permitted no pause in the 
work of disintegration. By the middle of March the blue 
water predominated, and adventurous steamers had already 
picked and pounded their way to and from the city. 

Only those deeply enamoured of Nature feel much enthusi- 
asm for the first month of spring; but for them this season 
possesses a peculiar fascination. The beauty that has been so 
cold and repellent is relenting — yielding, seemingly against 
her will, to a wooing that cannot be repulsed by even her harsh- 
est moods. To the vigilance of love, sudden, unexpected 
smiles are granted ; and though, as if these were regretted, the 
frown quickly returns, it is often less forbidding. It is a period 
full of delicious, soul- thrilling “ first times,” the coy, exquisite 
beginnings of that final abandonment to her suitor in the sky. 
Although she veils her face for days with clouds, and again and 
again greets him in the dawn, wrapped in her old icy reserve, 


1 68 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


he smiles back his answer, and she cannot resist. Indeed, 
there soon come warm, still, bright days whereon she feels her- 
self going, but does not even protest. Then, as if suddenly 
conscious of lost ground, she makes a passionate effort to re- 
gain her wintry aspect. It is so passionate as to betray her, so 
stormy as to insure a profounder relenting, a warmer, more 
tearful, and penitent smile after her wild mood is over. She 
finds that she cannot return to her former sustained coldness, 
and so at last surrenders, and the frost passes wholly from her 
heart. 

To Alf’s and Johnnie’s delight it so happened that one of 
these gentlest moods of early spring occurred on Saturday — 
that weekly millennium of school-children. With plans and 
preparations matured, they had risen with the sun, and, scam- 
pering back and forth over the frozen ground and the remaining 
patches of ice and snow, had carried every pail and pan that 
they could coax from their mother to a rocky hillside whereon 
clustered a few sugar-maples. Webb, the evening before, had 
inserted into the sunny sides of the trees little wooden troughs, 
and from these the tinkling drip of the sap made a music 
sweeter than that of the robins to the eager boy and girl. 

At the breakfast-table each one was expatiating on the rare 
promise of the day. Even Mrs. Clifford, awakened by the 
half-subdued clatter of the children, had seen the brilliant, 
rose-tinted dawn. 

“The day cannot be more beautiful than was the night,” 
Webb remarked. “ A little after midnight I was awakened by 
a clamor from the poultry, and suspecting either two or four 
footed thieves, I was soon covering the hennery with my gun. 
As a result, Sir Mephitis, as Burroughs calls him, lies stark and 
stiff near the door. After watching awhile, and finding no 
other marauders abroad, I became aware that it was one of the 
most perfect nights I had ever seen. It was hard to imagine 
that, a few hours before, a gale had been blowing under a cloudy 
sky. The moonlight was so clear that I could see to read dis- 


FIRST times: 


169 


tinctly. So attractive and still was the night that I started for 
an hour’s walk up the boulevard, and when near Idlewild brook 
had the fortune to empty the other barrel of my gun into a 
great horned owl. How the echoes resounded in the quiet 
night ! The changes in April are more rapid, but they are on 
a grander scale this month.” 

“ It seems to me,” laughed Burt, “ that your range of topics 
is even more sublime. From Sir Mephitis to romantic moon- 
light and lofty musings, no doubt, which ended with a screech- 
owl.” 

“The great horned is not a screech-owl, as you ought to 
know. Well, Nature is to blame for my alternations. I only 
took the goods the gods sent.” 

“I hope you did not take cold,” said Maggie. “The idea 
of prowling around at that time of night ! ” 

“Webb was in hopes that Nature might bestow upon him 
some confidences by moonlight that he could not coax from 
her in broad day. I shall seek better game than you found. 
Ducks are becoming plenty in the river, and all the conditions 
are favorable for a crack at them this morning. So I shall 
paddle out with a white coat over my clothes, and pretend to 
be a cake of ice. If I bring you a canvas-back, Amy, will you 
put the wishbone over the door?” 

“ Not till I have locked it and hidden the key.” 

Without any pre-arranged purpose the day promised to be 
given up largely to country sport. Burt had taken a lunch, and 
would not return until night, while the increasing warmth and 
brilliancy of the sunshine, and the children’s voices from the 
maple grove, soon lured Amy to the piazza. 

“ Come,” cried Webb, who emerged from the wood-house 
with an axe on his shoulder, “ don rubber boots and wraps, and 
we’ll improvise a (maj^-sugar campjof the New England style a 
hundred years ago. We should make the most of a day like this.” 

They soon joined the children on the hillside, whither Abram 
had already carried a capacious iron pot as black as himself. 


70 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


On a little terrace that was warm and bare of snow, Webb set 
up cross-sticks in gypsy fashion, and then with a chain sus- 
pended the pot, the children dancing like witches around it. 
Mr. Clifford and little Ned now appeared, the latter joining in 
the eager quest for dry sticks. Not far away was a large tree 
that for several years had been slowly dying, its few living 
branches having flushed early in September, in their last glow, 
which had been premature and hectic. Dry sticks would make 
little impression on the sap that now in the warmer light 
dropped faster from the wounded maples, and therefore to 
supply the intense heat that should give them at least a rich 
syrup before night, Webb threw off his coat and attacked the 
defunct veteran of the grove. Amy watched his vigorous 
strokes with growing zest ; and he, conscious of her eyes, struck 
strong and true. Leonard, not far away, was removing impedi- 
ments from the courses, thus securing a more rapid flow of the 
water and promoting the drainage of the land. He had sent 
up his cheery voice from time to time, but now joined the 
group, to witness, the fall of a tree that had been old when he 
had played near it like his own children to-day. The echoes 
of the ringing axe came back to them from an adjacent hillside ; 
a squirrel barked and “ snickered,” as if he too were a party to 
the fun ; crows overhead cawed a protest at the destruction of 
their ancient perch ; but with steady and remorseless stroke the 
axe was driven through the concentric rings on either side into 
the tree’s dead heart. At last, as fibre after fibre was cut away, 
it began to tremble. The children stood breathless and almost 
pitying as they saw the shiver, apparently conscious, which fol- 
lowed each blow. Something of the same callousness of cus- 
tom with which the fall of a man is witnessed must blunt one’s 
nature before he can look unmoved upon the destruction of a 
familiar tree. 

As the dead maple trembled more and more violently, and at 
last swayed to and fro in the breathless air, Amy cried, “ Webb ! 
Webb ! come away 1 ” 


FIRST times: 


171 


She had hardly spoken when, with a slow and stately motion, 
the lofty head bowed ; there was a rush through the air, an 
echoing crash upon the rocks. She sprang forward with a slight 
cry, but Webb, leaning his axe on the prostrate bole, looked 
smilingly at her, and said, “ Why, Amy, there is no more danger 
in this work than in cutting a stalk of corn, if one knows how.” 

“ There appears to be more,” she replied. “I never saw a 
large tree cut down before, but have certainly read of people 
being crushed. Does it often happen?” 

“ No, indeed.” 

“ By the way, Amy,” said Leonard, “ the wood-chopper that 
you visited with me is. doing so well that we shall give him work 
on the farm this summer. There was a little wheat in all that 
chaff of a man, and it’s beginning to grow. But the wife is a 
case. He says he would like to work where he can see you 
occasionally.” 

“ I have been there twice with Webb since, and shall go 
oftener when the roads are better,” she replied, simply. 

“ That’s right, Amy ; follow up a thing,” said Mr. Clifford. 
“ It’s better to help one family than to try to help a dozen. 
That was a good clean cut, Webb,” he added, examining the 
stump. “ I dislike to see a tree haggled down.” 

“ How strong you are, Webb ! ” said Amy. “ I suppose that 
if you had lived a few hundred years ago you would have been 
hacking at people in the same way.” 

“ And so might have been a hero, and won your admiration 
if you had lived then in some gray castle, with the floor of your 
bower strewn with rushes. Now there is no career for me but 
that of a plain farmer.” 

“What manly task was given long before knighthood, eh, 
Webb ? Right royal was the commission, too. Was it not to 
subdue the earth ? It seems to me that you are striving after 
the higher mastery, one into which you can put all your mind 
as well as muscle. Knocking people on the head wasn’t a very 
high art.” 


\J2 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“What ! not in behalf of a distressed damsel?” 

“ I imagine there will always be distressed damsels in the 
world. Indeed, in fiction it would seem that many would be 
nothing if not distressed. You can surely find one, Webb, and 
so be a knight in spite of our prosaic times.” 

“ I shall not try,” he replied, laughing. “ I am content to 
be a farmer, and am glad you do not think our work is coarse 
and common. You obtained some good ideas in England, 
Amy. The tastes of the average American girl incline too 
much towards the manhood of the shop and office. There, 
Len, I am rested now ; ” and he took the axe from his brother, 
who had been lopping the branches from the prostrate tree. 

Amy again watched his athletic figure with pleasure as he 
rapidly prepared billets for the seething caldron of sap. 

The day was indeed forming an illuminated page. The blue 
of the sky seemed intense after so many gray and steel-hued 
days, and there was not a trace of cloud. The flowing sap was 
not sweeter than the air, to which the brilliant sunlight imparted 
an exhilarating warmth far removed from sultriness. From the 
hillside came the woody odor of decaying leaves, and from the 
adjacent meadow the delicate perfume of grasses whose roots 
began to tingle with life the moment the iron grip of the frost 
relaxed. Sitting on a rock near the crackling fire, Amy made 
as fair a gypsy as one would wish to see. On every side were 
evidences that spring was taking possession of the land. In 
the hollows of the meadow at her feet were glassy pools, kept 
from sinking away by a substratum of frost, and among these 
migratory robins and high-holders were feeding. The brook 
beyond was running full from the melting of the snow in the 
mountains, and its hoarse murmur was the bass in the musical 
babble and tinkle of smaller rills hastening towards it on either 
side. Thus in all directions the scene was lighted up with the 
glint and sparkle of water. The rays of the sun idealized even 
the muddy road, of which a glimpse was caught, for the pasty 
clay glistened like the surface of a stream. The returning birds 


FIRST times: 


173 


appeared as jubilant over the day as the children whose voices 
blended with their songs — as do all the sounds that are abso- 
lutely natural. The migratory tide of robins, song-sparrows, 
phoebes, and other early birds was still moving northward ; but 
multitudes had dropped out of line, having reached their haunts 
of the previous year. The sunny hillside and its immediate 
vicinity seemed a favorite lounging-place both for the birds 
of passage and for those already at home. The excitement of 
travel to some, and the delight at having regained the scene 
of last year’s love and nesting to others, added to the universal 
joy of spring, so exhilarated their hearts that they could scarcely 
be still a moment. Although the sun was approaching the 
zenith, there was not the comparative silence that pervades a 
summer noon. Bird calls resounded everywhere ; there was a 
constant flutter of wings, as if all were bent upon making or 
renewing acquaintance — an occupation frequently interrupted 
by transports of song. 

“ Do you suppose they really recognize each other?” Amy 
asked Webb, as he threw down an armful of wood near her. 

“ Dr. Marvin would insist that they do,” he replied, laugh- 
ing. “ When with him, one must be wary in denying to the 
birds any of the virtues and powers. He would probably say 
that they understood each other as well as we do. They cer- 
tainly seem to be comparing notes, in one sense of the word 
at least. Listen, and you will hear at this moment the song of 
bluebird, robin, both song and fox sparrow, phoebe, blue jay, 
high-holder, and crow — that is, if you can call the notes of 
the last two birds a song.” 

“ What a lovely chorus ! ” she cried, after a few moments’ 
pause. 

“Wait till two months have passed, and you will hear a 
grand symphony every morning and evening. All the members 
of our summer opera troupe do not arrive till June, and several 
weeks must still pass before the great star of the season 
appears." 


174 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ Indeed ! and who is he, or she ? ” 

“ Both he and she — the wood-thrush and his mate. They 
are very aristocratic kin of these robins. A little before them 
will come two other blood-relations, Mr. and Mrs. Brown- 
thrasher, who, notwithstanding their family connection with the 
high-toned wood-thrush and jolly, honest robin, are stealthy in 
their manner, and will skulk away before you as if ashamed of 
something. When the musical fit is on them, however, they 
will sing openly from the loftiest tree- top, and with a sweetness, 
too, that few birds can equal.” 

“ Why, Webb, you almost equal Dr. Marvin.” 

“ Oh no ; I only become acquainted with my favorites. If 
a bird is rare, though commonplace in itself, he will pursue it 
as if it laid golden eggs.” 

A howl from Ned proved that even the brightest days and 
scenes have their drawbacks. The little fellow had been prowl- 
ing around among the pails and pans, intent on obtaining a 
drink of the sap, and thus had put his hand on a honey-bee 
seeking the first sweet of the year. In an instant Webb reached 
his side, and saw what the trouble was. Carrying him to the 
fire, he drew a key from his pocket, and pressed its hollow 
ward over the spot stung. This caused the poison to work out. 
Nature’s remedy — mud — abounded, and soon a little moist 
clay covered the wound, and Amy took him in her arms and 
tried to pacify him, while his father, who had strolled away 
with Mr. Clifford, speedily returned. The grandfather looked 
down commiseratingly on the sobbing little companion of his 
earlier morning walk, and soon brought, not merely serenity, 
but joy unbounded, by a quiet proposition. 

“ I will go back to the house,” he said, “ and have mamma 
put up a nice lunch, and you and the other children can eat 
your dinner here by the fire. So can you, Webb and Amy, 
and then you can look after the youngsters. It’s warm and 
dry here. Suppose you have a little picnic, which,, in March, 
will be a thing to remember, Alf ; you can come with me, and 


FIRST TIMES." 


t?5 

while mimma is preparing the lunch you can run to the market 
and get some oysters and clams, and these, with potatoes, you 
can roast in the ashes of a smaller fire, which Ned and Johnnie 
can look after under Webb’s superintendence. Wouldn’t you 
like my little plan, Amy ? ” 

“Yes, indeed,” she replied, putting her hands caressingly 
within his arm. “It’s hard to think you are old when you 
know so well what we young people like. I didn’t believe that 
this day could be brighter or jollier, and yet your plan has 
made the children half- wild.” 

Indeed, Alf had already given his approval by tearing off 
towards the house for the materials of this unprecedented 
March feast in the woods, and the old gentleman, as if made 
buoyant by the good promise of his little project in the chil- 
dren’s behalf, followed with a step wonderfully elastic for a man 
of fourscore. 

“ Well, Heaven grant I may attain an age like that ! ” said 
Webb, looking wistfully after him. “ There is more of spring 
than autumn in father yet, and I don’t believe there will be any 
winter in his life. Well, Amy, like the birds and squirrels 
around us, we shall dine out-of-doors to-day. You must be 
mistress of the banquet ; Ned, Johnnie, and I place ourselves 
under your orders : don’t we, Johnnie? ” 

“ To be sure, uncle Webb ; only I’m so crazy over all this 
fun that I’m sure I can never do anything straight.” 

“Well, then, ‘bustle! bustle!’” cried Amy. “I believe 
with Maggie that housekeeping and dining well are high arts, 
and not humdrum necessities. Webb, I need a broad, flat rock. 
Please provide one at once, while Johnnie gathers clean dry 
leaves for plates. You, Ned, can put lots of dry sticks between 
the stones there, and uncle Webb will kindle the right kind of 
a fire to leave plenty of hot coals and ashes. Now is the time 
for him to make his science useful.” 

Webb was becoming a mystery unto himself. Was it the 
exquisitely pure air and the exhilarating spring sunshine that 


176 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


sent the blood tingling through his veins ? Or was it the pres- 
ence, tones, and gestures of a girl with brow and neck like the 
snow that glistened on the mountain slopes above them, and 
large true eyes that sometimes seemed gray and again blue? 
Amy’s developing beauty was far removed from a fixed type of 
prettiness, and he felt this in a vague way. The majority of 
the girls of his acquaintance had a manner rather than an in- 
dividuality, and looked and acted much the same whenever he 
saw them. They were conventionalized after some received 
country type, and although farmers’ daughters, they seemed 
unnatural to this lover of nature. Allowing for the difference 
in years, Amy was as devoid of self-consciousness as Alf or 
Johnnie. Not the slightest trace of mannerism perverted her 
girlish ways. She moved, talked, and acted with no more effort 
or thought of effort than had the bluebirds that were passing to 
and fro with their simple notes and graceful flight. She was 
nature in its phase of girlhood. To one of his temperament 
and training the perfect day itself would have been full of 
unalloyed enjoyment although occupied with his ordinary 
labors ; but for some reason this unpremeditated holiday, with 
Amy’s companionship, gave him a pleasure before unknown — 
a pleasure deep and satisfying, unmarred by jarring discords 
or uneasy protests of conscience or reason. Truly, on this 
spring day a “ first time ” came to him, a new element was 
entering into his life. He did not think of defining it ; he did 
not even recognize it, except in the old and general way that 
Amy’s presence had-enriched them all, and in his own case had 
arrested a tendency to become materialistic and narrow. On a 
like day the year before he would have been absorbed in the 
occupations of the farm, and merely conscious to a certain 
extent of the sky above him and the bird song and beauty 
around him. To-day they were like revelations. Even a 
March world was transfigured. His zest in living and working 
was enhanced a thousand- fold, because life and work were 
illumined by happiness, as the scene was brightened by sun- 


FIRST TIMES: 


1 77 


shine. He felt that he had only half seen the world before ; 
now he had the joy of one gradually gaining vision after partial 
blindness. 

Amy saw that he was enjoying the day immensely in his 
quiet way ; she also saw that she had not a little to do with the 
result, and the reflection that she could please and interest the 
grave and thoughtful man, who was six years her senior, con- 
veyed a delicious sense of power. And yet she was pleased 
much as a child would be. “ He knows so much more than I 
do,” she thought, “ and is usually so wrapped up in some deep 
subject, or so busy, that it’s awfully jolly to find that one can 
beguile him into having such a good time. Burt is so exuberant 
in everything that I am afraid of being carried away, as by a 
swift stream, I know not where. I feel like checking and re- 
straining him all the time. For me to add my small stock of 
mirth to his immense spirits would be like lighting a candle on 
a day like this : but when I smile on Webb the effect is won- 
derful, and I can never get over my pleased surprise at the 
fact.” 

Thus, like the awakening forces in the soil around them, a 
vital force was developing in two human hearts equally uncon- 
scious. 

Alf and his grandfather at last returned, each well laden, and 
preparations went on apace. Mr. Clifford made as if he would 
return and dine at home, but they all clamored for his company. 
With a twinkle in his eye, he said : 

“ Well, I told mother that I might lunch with you, and I was 
only waiting to be pressed a little. I’ve lived a good many 
years, but never was on a picnic in March before.” 

“ Grandpa, you shall be squeezed as well as pressed,” cried 
Johnnie, putting her arms about his neck. “ You shall stay and 
see what a lovely time you have given us. Oh, if Cinderella 
were only here ! ” and she gave one little sigh, the first of the 
day. 

“ Possibly Cinderella may appear in time for lunch ; ” and with 


i7« 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


a significant look he directed Amy to the basket he had brought, 
from the bottom of which was drawn a doll with absurdly di- 
minutive feet, and for once in her life Johnnie’s heart craved 
nothing more. 

“ Maggie knew that this little mother could not be content 
long without her doll, and so she put it in. You children have 
a thoughtful mother, and you must be thoughtful of her,” added 
the old man, who felt that the incident admitted of a little homily. 

What appetites they all had ! If some of the potatoes were 
slightly burned and others a little raw, the occasion added a 
flavor better than Attic salt. A flock of chickadees approached 
near enough to gather the crumbs that were thrown to them. 

“ It’s strange,” said Webb, “ how tame the birds are when 
they return in the spring. In the fall the robins are among the 
wildest of the birds, and now they are all around us. I believe 
that if I place some crumbs on yonder rock, they’ll come and dine 
with us, in a sense ; ” and the event proved that he was right. 

“ Hey, Johnnie,” said her grandfather, “ you never took din- 
ner with the birds before, did you ? This is almost as wonder- 
ful as if Cinderella sat up and asked for an oyster.” 

But Johnnie was only pleased with the fact, not surprised. 
Wonderland was her land, and she said, “ I don’t see why the 
birds can’t understand that I’d like to have dinner with them 
every day.” 

“ By the way, Webb,” continued his father, “ I brought out 
the field-glass with me, for I thought that with your good eyes 
you might see Burt ; ” and he drew it from his pocket. 

The idea of seeing Burt shooting ducks nearly broke up the 
feast, and Webb swept the distant river, full of floating ice that 
in the sunlight looked like snow. “ I can see several out in 
boats,” he said, “ and Burt, no doubt, is among them.” 

Then Amy, Alf, and Johnnie must have a look, but Ned de- 
voted himself strictly to business, and Amy remarked that he 
was becoming like a little sausage. 

“ Can the glass make us hear the noise of the gun better?” 


FIRST times: 


179 


Johnnie asked, at which they all laughed, Ned louder than any, 
because of the laughter of the others. It required but a little 
thing to make these banqueters hilarious. 

But there was one who heard them and did not laugh. From 
the brow of the hill a dark, sad face looked down upon them. 
Lured by the beauty of the day, Mr. Alvord had wandered aim- 
lessly into the woods, and, attracted by merry voices, had drawn 
sufficiently near to witness a scene that awakened within him 
indescribable pain and longing. He did not think of joining 
them. It was not a fear that he would be unwelcomed that 
kept him away ; he knew the family too well to imagine that. 
A stronger restraint was upon him. Something in the past dark- 
ened even that bright day, and built in the crystal air a barrier 
that he could not pass. They would give him a place at their 
rustic board, but he could not take it. He knew that he would 
be a discord in their harmony, and their innocent merriment 
smote his morbid nature with almost intolerable pain. With a 
gesture indicating immeasurable regret, he turned and hastened 
away to his lonely home. As he mounted the little piazza his 
steps were arrested. The exposed end of a post that supported 
the inner side of its roof formed a little sheltered nook in which 
a pair of bluebirds had begun to build their nest. They looked 
at him with curious and distrustful eyes as they flitted to and 
fro in a neighboring tree and he sat down and looked at them. 
The birds were evidently in doubt and in perturbed consultation. 
They would fly to the post, then away and all around the house, 
but scarcely a moment passed that Mr. Alvord did not see that 
he was observed and discussed. With singular interest and 
deep suspense he awaited their decision. At last it came, and 
was favorable. The female bird came flying to the post with a 
beakful of fine dry grass, and her mate, on a spray near, broke 
out into his soft, rapturous song. The master of the house gave 
a great sigh of relief. A glimmer of a smile passed over his 
wan face as he muttered, “ I expected to be alone this summer, 
but I am to have a family with me, after all.” 


i8o 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


Soon after the lunch had been discussed leisurely and hilari- 
ously the maple-sugar camp was left in the care of Alf and 
Johnnie, with Abram to assist them. Amy longed for a stroll, 
but even with the protection of rubber boots she found that the 
departing frost had left the sodded meadow too wet and spongy 
for safety. Under Webb’s direction she picked her way to the 
margin of the swollen stream, and gathered some pussy willows 
that were bursting their sheaths. 


REGRETS AND DUCK-SHOOTING. 


181 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

REGRETS AND DUCK-SHOOTING. 

S ATURDAY afternoon, as is usual in the country, brought an 
increased number of duties to the inhabitants of the farm- 
house, but at the supper hour they all, except Burt, looked back 
upon the day with unwonted satisfaction. He had returned 
weary, hungry, and discontented, notwithstanding the fact that 
several brace of ducks hung on the piazza as trophies of his 
skill. He was in that uncomfortable frame of mind which results 
from charging one’s self with a blunder. In the morning he 
had entered on the sport with his usual zest, but it had soon 
declined, and he wished he had remained at home. He re- 
membered the children’s intention of spending the day among 
the maples, and as the sun grew warm, and the air balmy, the 
thought occurred with increasing frequency that he might have 
induced Amy to join them, and so have enjoyed long hours of 
companionship under circumstances most favorable to his suit. 
He now admitted that were the river alive with ducks, the im- 
agined opportunities of the maple grove were tenfold more 
attractive. At one time he half decided to return, but pride 
prevented until he should have secured a fair amount of game. 
He would not go home to be laughed at. Moreover, Amy had 
not been so approachable of late as he could wish, and he pro- 
posed to punish her a little, hoping that she would miss his 
presence and attentions. The many reminiscences at the sup- 
per-table were not consoling. It was evident that he had not 
been missed in the way that he desired to be, and that the day 


182 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


had been one of rich enjoyment to her. Neither was Webb’s 
quiet satisfaction agreeable, and Burt mildly anathematized him- 
self at the thought that he might have had his share in giving 
Amy so much pleasure. He took counsel of experience, how- 
ever, and having learned that even duck-shooting under the 
most favorable auspices palled when contrasted with Amy’s 
smiles and society, he resolved to be present in the future when 
she, like Nature, was in a propitious mood. Impetuous as he 
was, he had not yet reached the point of love’s blindness which 
would lead him to press his suit in season and out of season. 
He soon found a chance to inform Amy of his regret, but she 
laughed merrily back at him as she went up to her room, saying 
that the air of a martyr sat upon him with very poor grace in 
view of his success and persistence in the sport, and that he 
had better put a white mark against the day, as she had done. 

Early in the evening Dr. Marvin appeared, with Mr. Marks, 
one of the most noted duck-shooters and fishermen on the river, 
and they brought in three superb specimens of a rare bird in 
this region, the American swan, that queen of water-fowls and 
embodiment of grace. 

“ Shot ’em an hour or two ago, near Polopel’s Island,” said 
Mr. Marks, “ and we don’t often have the luck to get within 
range of such game. Dr. Marvin was down visiting one of my 
children, and he said how he would like to prepare the skin of 
one, and he thought some of you folks here might like to have 
another mounted, and he’d do it if you wished.” 

Exclamations of pleasure followed this proposition. Alf ex- 
amined them with deep interest, while Burt whispered to Amy 
that he would rather have brought her home a swan like one of 
those than all the ducks that ever quacked. 

In accordance with their hospitable ways, the Cliffords soon 
had the doctor and Mr. Marks seated by their fireside, and the 
veteran sportsman was readily induced to enlarge upon some of 
his experiences. 

He had killed two of the swans, he told them, as they were 


REGRETS AND DUCK-SHOOTING . 183 

swimming, and the other as it rose. He did not propose to let 
any such uncommon visitors get away. He had never seen 
more than ten since he had lived in this region. With the pro- 
verbial experience of meeting game when without a gun, he had 
seen five fly over, one Sunday, while taking a ramble on Plum 
Point. 

“Have you ever obtained any snow-geese in our waters?” 
Dr. Marvin asked. 

“ No. That’s the scarcest water-fowl we have. Once in a 
wild snow-storm I saw a flock of about two hundred far out 
upon the river, and would have had a shot into them, but some 
fellows from the other side started out and began firing at long 
range, and that has been my only chance. I occasionally get 
some brant-geese, and they are rare enough. I once saw a flock 
of eight, and got them all — took five out of the flock in the 
first two shots — but I’ve never killed more than twenty-five in 
all.” 

“ I don’t think I have ever seen one,” remarked Mrs. Clifford, 
who, in her feebleness and in her home-nook, loved to hear 
about these bold, adventurous travellers. They brought to her 
vivid fancy remote wild scenes, desolate waters, and storm- 
beaten rocks. The tremendous endurance and power of wing 
in these shy children of nature never ceased to be marvels to 
her. “ Burt has occasionally shot wild-geese — we have one 
mounted there — but I do not know what a brant is, nor much 
about its habits,” she added. 

“ Its markings are like the ordinary Canada wild-goose,” Dr. 
Marvin explained, “ and it is about midway in size between a 
goose and a duck.” 

“ I’ve shot a good many of the common wild-geese in my 
time,” Mr. Marks resumed ; “ killed nineteen four years ago. 
I once knocked down ten out of a flock of thirteen by giving 
them both barrels. I have a flock of eight now in a pond not 
far away — broke their wings, you know, and so they can’t fly. 
They soon become tame, and might be domesticated easily, 


184 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY 


only you must always keep one wing cut, or they will leave in 
the spring or fall.” 

“ How is that ? ” 

“ Well, they never lose their instinct to migrate, and if they 
heard other wild-geese flying over, they’d rise quick enough if 
they could and go with them.” 

“ po you think there would be any profit in domesticating 
them?” asked practical Leonard. 

“ There might be. I know a man up the river who used to 
cross them with our common geese, and so produced a hybrid,, 
a sort of a mule-goose, that grew very large. I’ve known ’em 
to weigh eighteen pounds or more, and they were fine eating, I 
can tell you. I don’t suppose there is much in it, though, or 
some cute Yankee would have made a business of it before 
this.” 

“How many ducks *do you suppose you have shot all to- 
gether? ” Mr. Clifford asked. 

“ Oh, I don’t know — a great many. Killed five hundred last 
fall.” 

“What’s the greatest number you ever got out of a flock, 
Marks?” put in Burt. 

“ Well, there is the old squaw, or long-tailed duck. They go 
in big flocks, you know — have seen four or five hundred to- 
gether. In the spring, just after they have come from feeding 
on mussels in the southern oyster-beds, they are fishy, but in 
the fall they are much better, and the young ducks are scarcely 
fishy at all. I’ve taken twenty-three out of a flock by firing at 
them in the water and again when they rose ; and in the same 
way I once knocked over eighteen black or dusky ducks ; and 
they are always fine, you know.” 

“Are the fancy kinds, like the mallards and canvas-backs 
that are in such demand by the epicures, still plentiful in their 
season?” Webb asked. 

“No. I get a few now and then, but don’t calculate on 
them any longer. It was my luck with canvas-backs that got 


REGRETS AND DUCK-SHOOTING . 


185 


m me into my duck-shooting ways. I was cuffed and patted on 
the back the same day on their account.” 

In response to their laughing expressions of curiosity he re- 
sumed : “ I was but a little chap at the time ; still I believed I 
could shoot ducks, but my father wouldn’t trust me with either 
a gun or boat, and my only chance was to circumvent the old 
man. So one night I hid the gun outside of the house, climbed 
out of a window as soon as it was light, and paddled round a 
point where I would not be seen, and I tell you I had a grand 
time. I did not come in till the middle of the afternoon, but I 
reached a point when I must have my dinner, no matter what 
came before it. The old man was waiting for me, and he cuffed , 
me well. I didn’t say a word, but went to my mother, and she, 
mother-like, comforted me with a big dinner which she had 
kept for me. I was content to throw the cuffing in, and still 
feel that I had the best of the bargain. » An elder brother began 
to chaff me and ask, ‘ Where are your ducks ? ’ ‘ Better go and 

look under the seat in the stern-sheets before you make any 
more faces/ I answered, huffily. I suppose he thought at first 
I wanted to get rid of him, but he had just enough curiosity to 
go and see, and he pulled out sixteen canvas-backs. The old 
man was reconciled at once, for I had made better wages than 
he that day; and from that time on I’ve had all the duck- 
shooting I’ve wanted.” 

“ That’s a form of argument to which the world always 
yields,” said Leonard, laughing. 

“ How many kinds of wild- ducks do we have here in the bay. 
that you can shoot so many? ” Maggie asked. 

“ I’ve never counted ’em up. The doctor can tell you, 
perhaps.” 

“ I’ve prepared the skins of twenty- four different kinds that 
were shot in this vicinity,” replied Dr. Marvin. 

“ Don’t you and Mrs. Marvin dissect the birds also ? ” queried 
Leonard. 

“ Mr. Marks,” said Mr. Clifford, “ I think you once had a 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


1 86 

rather severe experience while out upon the river. Won’t you . 
tell us about it? ” 

“ Yes. My favorite sport came nigh being the death of me, 
and it always makes me shiver to think of it. I started out one 
spring morning at five o’clock, and did not get home till two 
o’clock the next morning, and not a mouthful did I have to eat. 

I had fair success during the day, but was bothered by the 
quantities of ice running, and a high wind. About four o’clock 
in the afternoon I concluded to return home, for I was tired 
and hungry. I was then out in the river off Plum Point. I 
saw an opening leading south, and paddled into it, but had not 
gone far before the wind drove the ice in upon me, and blocked 
the passage. There I was, helpless, and it began to blow a 
gale. The wind held the ice immovable on the west shore, 
even though the tide was running out. For a time I thought 
the boat would be crushed by the grinding cakes in spite of all 
I could do. If it had, I’d ’a been drowned at once, but I 
worked like a Trojan, shouting, meanwhile, loud enough to 
raise the dead. No one seemed to hear or notice me. At 
last I made my way to a cake that was heavy enough to bear 
my weight, and on this I pulled up the boat, and lay down ex- 
hausted. It was now almost night, and I was too tired to 
shout any more. There on that mass of ice I stayed till two 
o’clock the next morning. I thought I’d. freeze to death, if I 
did not drown. I shouted from time to time, till I found it was 
of no use, and then gave my thoughts to keeping awake and 
warm enough to live. I knew that my chance would be with 
the next turn of the tide, when the ice would move with it, and 
also the wind, up the river. So it turned out. I was at last 
able to break my way through the loosened ice to Plum Point, 
and then had a two-mile walk home ; and I can tell you that it 
never seemed so like home before.” 

“ Oh, Burt, please don’t go out again when the ice is run- 
ning,” was his mother’s comment on the story. 

“Thoreau speaks of seeing black ducks asleep on a pond 


REGRETS AND DUCK-SHOOTING. 


I8 7 


whereon thin ice had formed, enclosing them, during the March 
night,” said Webb. “ Have you ever caught them napping in 
this way? ” 

“ No,” replied Mr. Marks ; “ though it might easily happen 
on a still pond. The tides and wind usually break up the very 
thin ice on the river, and if there is any open water near, the 
ducks will stay in it.” 

“ Dr. Marvin, have you caught any glimpses of spring to-day 
that we have not? ” Amy asked. 

The doctor laughed — having heard of Webb’s exploit in the 
night near the hennery — and said : “ I might mention that I 
have seen ‘ Sir Mephitis ’ cabbage, as I suppose I should call it, 
growing vigorously. It is about the first green thing we have. 
Around certain springs, however, the grass keeps green all win- 
ter, and I passed one to-day surrounded by an emerald hue 
that was distinct in the distance. It has been very cold and 
backward thus far.” 

“ Possess your souls in patience,” said Mr. Clifford. “ Spring- 
time and harvest are sure. After over half a century’s observa- 
tion I have noted that, no matter what the weather may have 
been, Nature always catches up with the season about the mid- 
dle or last of June.” 


1 88 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XXIV, 


APRIL. 


HE remainder of March passed quickly away, with more 



i alternations of mood than there were days ; but in spite of 
snow, sleet, wind, and rain, the most forbidding frowns and 
tempestuous tears, all knew that Nature had yielded, and 
more and more often she half- smilingly acknowledged the truth 


herself. 


All sights and sounds about the farm-house betokened in- 
creasing activity. During the morning hours the cackling in 
the barn and out-buildings developed into a perfect clamor, for 
the more commonplace the event of a new-born egg became, the 
greater attention the hens were inclined to call to it. Possibly 
they also felt the spring-time impulse of all the feathered tribes 
to use their voice to the extent of its compass. The clatter 
was music to Alf and Johnnie, however, for gathering the eggs 
was one of their chief sources of revenue, and the hunting of 
nests — stolen so cunningly and cackled over so sillily — with 
their accumulated treasures was like prospecting for mines. 
The great basketful they brought in daily after their return from 
school proved that if the egg manufactory ran noisily, it did not 
run in vain. Occasionally their father gave them a peep into 
the dusky brooding-room. Under his thrifty management the 
majority of the nests were simply loose boxes, each inscribed 
with a number. When a biddy wished to sit, she was removed 
at night upon the nest, and the box was placed on a low shelf 
in the brooding-room. If she remained quiet and contented 


APRIL. 


189 


in the new location, eggs were placed under her, a note of the 
number of the box was taken, with the date, and the character 
of the eggs, if they represented any special breed. By these 
simple precautions little was left to what Squire Bartley termed 
“ luck.” Some of the hens had been on the nest nearly three 
weeks, and eagerly did the children listen for the first faint peep 
that should announce the senior chick of the year. 

Webb and Burt had already opened the campaign in the 
garden. On the black soil in the hot-bed, which had been 
made in a sheltered nook, were even now lines of cabbage, 
cauliflower, lettuce, tomatoes, etc. These nursling vegetables 
were cared for as Maggie had watched her babies. On mild 
sunny days the sash was shoved down and air given. High 
winds and frosty nights prompted to careful covering and tuck- 
ing away. The Cliffords were not of those who believe that 
pork, cabbage, and potatoes are a farmer’s birthright, when by 
a small outlay of time and skill every delicacy can be enjoyed, 
even in advance of the season. On a warm slope from which 
the frost ever took its earliest departure, pease, potatoes, and 
other hardy products of the garden were planted, and as the 
ground grew firm enough, the fertilizers of the barn- yard were 
carted to the designated places, whereon, by Nature’s alchemy, 
they would be transmuted into forms of use and beauty. 

It so happened that the 1st of April was an ideal spring day. 
During the morning the brow of Storm King, still clothed with 
snow, was shrouded in mist, through which the light broke un- 
certainly in gleams of watery sunshine. A succession of show- 
ers took place, but so slight and mild that they were scarcely 
heeded by the busy workers ; there was almost a profusion of 
half-formed rainbows ; and atmosphere and cloud so blended 
that it was hard to say where one began and the other ceased. 
On every twig, dead weed, and spire of withered grass hung 
innumerable drops that now were water and again diamonds 
when touched by the inconstant sun. Sweet-fern grass abounded 
in the lawn, and from it exuded an indescribably delicious odor. 


190 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


The birds were so ecstatic in their songs, so constant in their 
calls, that one might think that they, like the children, were 
making the most of All-fools’ Day, and playing endless pranks 
on each other. The robins acted as if nothing was left to be 
desired. They were at this time in all stages of relationship. 
Some had already paired, and were at work upon their domiciles, 
but more were in the blissful and excited state of courtship, 
and their conversational notes, wooings, and pleadings, as they 
warbled the pros and cons , were quite different from their matin 
and vesper songs. Not unfrequently there were two aspirants 
for the same claw or bill, and the rivals usually fought it out 
like their human neighbors in the olden time, the red-breasted 
object of their affections standing demurely aloof on the sward, 
quietly watching the contest with a sidelong look, undoubtedly 
conscious, however, of a little feminine exultation that she should 
be sought thus fiercely by more than one. After all, the chief 
joy of the robin world that day resulted from the fact that the 
mild, humid air lured the earth-worms from their burrowing, 
and Amy laughed more than once as, from her window, she saw 
a little gourmand pulling at a worm, which clung so desperately 
to its hole that the bird at last almost fell over backward with 
its prize. Courtship, nest-building, family cares — nothing dis- 
turbs a robin’s appetite, and it was, indeed, a sorry fools’-day 
for myriads of angle-worms that ventured out. 

Managing a country place is like sailing a ship : one’s labors 
are, or should be, much modified by the weather. This still day, 
when the leaves were heavy with moisture, afforded Webb the 
chance he had desired to rake the lawn and other grass-plots 
about the house, and store the material, for future use. He 
was not one to attempt this task when the wind would half 
undo his labor. 

In the afternoon the showery phase passed, and the sun 
shone with a misty brightness. Although so early in a back- 
ward spring, the day was full of the suggestion of wild flowers, 
and Amy and the children started on their first search into 


APRIL. 


191 

Nature’s calendar of the seasons. Alf knew where to look for 
the earliest blossoms, and in the twilight the explorers returned 
with handfuls of hepatica and arbutus buds, which, from expe- 
rience, they knew would bloom in a vase of water. Who has 
ever forgotten his childish exultation over the first wild flowers 
of the year ! Pale, delicate little blossoms though they be, and 
most of them odorless, their memory grows sweet with our age. 

Burt, who had been away to purchase a horse — he gave con- 
siderable of his time to the buying and selling of these animals 
— drove up as Amy approached the house, and pleaded for a 
spray of arbutus. 

“ But the buds are not open yet,” she said. 

“No matter ; I should value the spray just as much, since 
you gathered it.” 

“Why, Burt,” she cried, laughing, “on that principle I might 
as well give you a chip.” But she gave him the buds and 
escaped. 

“Amy,” Webb asked at the supper-table, “didn’t you hear 
the peepers this afternoon while out walking? ” 

“ Yes ; and I asked Alf what they were. He said they were 
peepers, and that they always made a noise in the spring.” 

“Why, Al£” Webb resumed, in mock gravity, “you should 
have told Amy that the sounds came from the Hylodes 
pi eke ringiH' 

“ If that is all that you can tell me,” said Amy, laughing, “ I 
prefer Alf s explanation. I have known people to cover up their 
ignorance by big words before. Indeed, I think it is a way you 
scientists have.” 

“I must admit it; and yet that close observer, John Bur- 
roughs, gives a charming account of these little frogs that we 
call 1 hylas ’ for short. Shy as they are, and quick to disappear 
when approached, he has seen them, as they climb out of the 
mud upon a sedge or stick in the marshes, inflate their throats 
until they ‘ suggest a little drummer-boy with his drum hung 
high.’ In this bubble-like swelling at its throat the noise is 


192 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


made ; and to me it is a welcome note of spring, although I 
have heard people speak of it as one of the most lonesome 
and melancholy of sounds. It is a common saying among old 
farmers that the peepers must be shut up three times by frost 
before we can expect steady spring weather. I believe that 
naturalists think these little mites of frogs leave the mud and 
marshes later on, and become tree-toads. Let me give you a 
hint, Alf. Try to find out what you can at once about the 
things you see or hear : that’s the way to get an education.” 

“ May I not take the hint also? ” Amy asked. 

“ Please don’t think me a born pedagogue,” he answered, 
smiling ; “ but you have no idea how fast we obtain knowledge 
of certain kinds if we follow up the object-lessons presented 
every day.” 


EASTER. 


193 


CHAPTER XXV. 

EASTER. 

E ASTER-SUNDAY came early in the month, and there had 
been great preparations for it, for with the Cliffords it was 
one of the chief festivals of the year. To the children was 
given a week’s vacation, and they scoured the woods for all the 
arbutus that gave any promise of opening in time. Clumps of 
bloodroot, hepaticas, dicentras, dog-tooth violets, and lilies- 
of-the-valley had been taken up at the first relaxation of frost, 
and forced in the flower-room. Hyacinth and tulip bulbs, kept 
back the earlier part of the winter, were timed to bloom arti- 
ficially at this season so sacred to flowers, and, under Mrs. 
Clifford’s fostering care, all the exotics of the little conservatory 
had been stimulated to do their best to grace the day. On 
Suturday afternoon Mr. Barkdale’s pulpit was embowered with 
plants and vines growing in pots, tubs, and rustic boxes, and 
the good man beamed upon the work, gaining meanwhile an 
inspiration that would put a soul into his words on the morrow. 

No such brilliant morning dawned on the worship of the 
Saxon goddess Eostre, in cloudy, forest-clad England in the 
centuries long past, as broke over the eastern mountains on 
that sacred day. At half-past five the sun appeared above the 
shaggy summit of the Beacon, and the steel hues of the placid 
Hudson were changed into sparkling silver. A white mist 
rested on the water between Storm King, Break Neck, and 
Mount Taurus. In the distance it appeared as if snow had 
drifted in and half filled the gorge of the Highlands. The 


194 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


orange and rose-tinted sky gradually deepened into an intense 
blue, and although the land was as bare and the forests were 
as gaunt as in December, a soft glamour over all proclaimed 
spring. 

Spring was also in Amy’s eyes, in the oval delicacy of her 
girlish face with its exquisite flush, in her quick, deft hands and 
elastic step as she arranged baskets and vases of flowers. Webb 
watched her with his deep eyes, and his Easter worship began 
early in the day. True homage it was, because so involuntary, 
so unquestioning and devoid of analysis, so utterly free from 
the self-conscious spirit that expects a large and definite return 
for adoration. His sense of beauty, the poetic capabilities of 
his nature, were kindled. Like the flowers that seemed to 
know their place in a harmony of color when she touched them, 
Amy herself was emblematic of Easter, of its brightness and 
hopefulness, of the new, richer spiritual life that was coming to 
him. He loved his homely work and calling as never before, 
because he saw how on every side it touched and blended with 
the beautiful and sacred. Its highest outcome was like the 
blossoms before him which had developed from a rank soil, 
dark roots, and prosaic woody stems. The grain he raised fed 
and matured the delicate human perfection shown in every 
graceful and unconscious pose of the young girl. She was 
Nature’s priestess interpreting to him a higher, gentler world 
which before he had seen but dimly — interpreting it all the 
more clearly because she made no effort to reveal it. She led 
the way, he followed, and the earth ceased to be an aggregate 
of forms and material forces. With his larger capabilities he 
might yet become her master, but now, with an utter absence 
of vanity, he recognized how much she was doing for him, how 
she was widening his horizon and uplifting his thoughts and 
motives, and he reverenced her as such men ever do a woman 
that leads them to a higher plane of life. 

No such deep thoughts and vague homage perplexed Burt as 
he assisted Amy with attentions that were assiduous and almost 


EASTER. 


195 


garrulous. The brightness of the morning was in his handsome 
face, and the gladness of his buoyant temperament in his heart. 
Amy was just to his taste — pretty, piquant, rose-hued, and a 
trifle thorny too, at times, he thought. He believed that he 
loved her with a boundless devotion — at least it seemed so 
that morning. It was delightful to be near her, to touch her 
fingers occasionally as he handed her flowers, and to win smiles, 
arch looks, and even words that contained a minute prick like 
spines on the rose stems. He felt sure that his suit would pros- 
per in time, and she was all the more fascinating because show- 
ing no sentimental tendencies to respond with a promptness 
that in other objects of his attention in the past had even 
proved embarrassing. She was a little conscious of Webb’s 
silent observation, and, looking up suddenly, caught an expres- 
sion that deepened her color slightly. 

“ That for your thoughts,” she said, tossing him a flower with 
sisterly freedom. 

“ Webb is pondering deeply,” explained the observant Burt, 
“on the reflection of light as shown not only by the color 
in these flowers, but also in your cheeks under his fixed 
stare.” 

There was an access of rose-hued reflection at these words, 
but Webb rose quietly and said : “ If you will let me keep the 
flower I will tell you my thoughts another time. They were 
quite suitable for Easter morning. That basket is now ready, 
and I will take it to the church.” 

Burt was soon despatched with another, while she and John- 
nie, who had been flitting about, eager and interested, followed 
with light and delicate vases. To their surprise, Mr. Alvord 
intercepted them near the church vestibule. He had never 
been seen at any place of worship, and the reserve and dignity 
of his manner had prevented the most zealous from interfering 
with his habits. From the porch of his cottage he had seen 
Amy and the little girl approaching with their floral offerings. 
Nature’s smile that morning had softened his bitter mood, and, 


196 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


obeying an impulse to look nearer upon two beings that belonged 
to another world than his, he joined them, and asked, 

“ Won’t you let me see your flowers before you take them 
into the church? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Amy, cordially ; “ but there are lovelier 
ones on the pulpit ; won’t you come in and see them? ” 

He shook his head. 

“What!” cried Johnnie, “not going to church to-day?” 
She had lost much of her fear of him, for in his rambles he 
frequently met her and Alf, and usually spoke to them. More- 
over, she had repeatedly seen him at their fireside, and he ever 
had a smile for her. The morbid are often fearless with chil- 
dren, believing that, like the lower orders of life, they have 
little power to observe that anything is amiss, and therefore are 
neither apt to be repelled nor curious and suspicious. This in 
a sense is true, and yet their instincts are keen. But Mr. 
Alvord was not selfish or coarse ; above all he was not harsh. 
To Johnnie he only seemed strange, quiet, and unhappy, and 
she had often heard her mother say, “ Poor Mr. Alvord ! ” 
Therefore, when he said, “ I don’t go to church ; if I had a 
little girl like you to sit by me, I might feel differently, ” her 
heart was touched, and she replied, impulsively : “ I’ll sit by 
you, Mr. Alvord. I’ll sit with you all by ourselves, if you will 
only go t<^ church to-day. Why, it’s Easter.” 

“ Mr. Alvord,” said Amy, gently, “ that’s an unusual offer for 
shy Johnnie to make. You don’t know what a compliment you 
have received, and I think you Will make the child very happy 
if you comply.” 

“ Could I make you happier by sitting with you in church 
to-day?” he asked, in a low voice, offering the child his 
hand. 

“ Yes,” she replied, simply. 

“ Come, then. You lead the way, for you know best where 
to go.” She gave her vase to Amy, and led him into a side 
seat near her father’s pew — one that she had noted as unoccu- 


EASTER. 197 

pied of late. “ It’s early yet. Do you mind sitting here until 
service begins ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh no. I like to sit here and look at the flowers ; ” and 
the first comers glanced wonderingly at the little girl and her 
companion, who was a stranger to them and to the sanctuary. 
Amy explained matters to Leonard and Maggie at the door 
when they arrived, and Easter-Sunday had new and sweeter 
meanings to them. 

The spring had surely found its way into Mr. Barkdale’s 
sermon also, and its leaves, as he turned them, were not autumn 



AN UPLAND MEADOW. 


leaves, which, even though brilliant, suggest death and sad 
changes. One of his thoughts was much commented upon by 
the Cliffords, when, in good old country style, the sermon was 
spoken of at dinner. “ The God we worship,” he said, “ is the 
God of life, of nature. In his own time and way he puts forth 
his power. We can employ this power and make it ours. 
Many of you will do this practically during the coming weeks. 
You sow seed, plant trees, and seek to shape others into sym- 
metrical form by pruning-knife and saw. What is your expec- 
tation? Why, that the great power that is revivifying nature 
will take up the work where you leave off, and carry it forward. 
All the skill and science in the world could not create a field 


198 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


of waving grain, nor all the art one of these flowers. How 
immensely the power of God supplements the labor of man in 
those things which minister chiefly to his lower nature ! Can 
you believe that he will put forth so much energy that the grain 
may mature and the flower bloom, and yet not exert far greater 
power that man himself may develop according to the capa- 
bilities of his being? The forces now exist in the earth and in 
the air to make the year fruitful, but you must intelligently avail 
yourselves of them. You must sow, plant, and cultivate. The 
power ever exists that can redeem us from evil, heal the wounds 
that sin has made, and develop the manhood and womanhood 
that Heaven receives and rewards. With the same resolute 
intelligence you must lay hold upon this ever-present spiritual 
force if you would be lifted up.” 

After the service there were those who would ostentatiously 
recognize and encourage Mr. Alvord ; but the Cliffords, with 
better breeding, quietly and cordially greeted him, and that 
was all. At the door he placed Johnnie’s hand in her mother’s, 
and gently said, “Good-by;” but the pleased smile of the 
child and Mrs. Leonard followed him. As he entered his 
porch, other maternal eyes rested upon him, and the brooding 
bluebird on her nest seemed to say, with Maggie, “ I am not 
afraid of you.” Possibly to the lonely man this may prove 
Easter-Sunday in very truth, and hope, that he had thought 
buried forever, come from its grave. 

In the afternoon all the young people started for the hills, 
gleaning the earliest flowers, and feasting their eyes on the sun- 
lit landscapes veiled with soft haze from the abundant moisture 
with which the air was charged. As the sun sank low in the 
many-hued west, and the eastern mountains clothed themselves 
in royal purple, Webb chanced to be alone, near Amy, and she 
said, 

“ You have, had that flower all day, and I have not had your 
thoughts.” 

“ Oh yes, you have — a great many of them.” 


EASTER. 


199 


“ You know that isn’t what I mean. You promised to tell 
me what you were thinking about so deeply this morning.” 

He looked at her smilingly a moment, and then his face 
grew gentle and grave as he replied : “ I can scarcely explain, 
Amy. I am learning that thoughts which are not clear : cut and 
definite may make upon us the strongest impressions. They 
cause us to feel that there is much that we only half know and 
half understand as yet. You and your flowers seemed to in- 
terpret to me the meaning of this day as I never understood it 
before. Surely its deepest significance is life, happy, hopeful 
life, with escape from its grosser elements, and as you stood 
there you embodied that idea.” 

“ Oh, Webb,” she cried, in comic perplexity, “you are getting 
too deep for me. I was only arranging flowers, and not think- 
ing about embodying anything. But go on.” 

“ If you had been, you would have spoiled everything,” he 
resumed, laughing. “ I can’t explain ; I can only suggest the 
rest in a sentence or two. Look at the shadow creeping up 
yonder mountain — very dark blue on the lower side of the 
moving line and deep purple above. Listen to these birds 
around us. Well, every day I see and hear and appreciate 
these things better, and I thought that you were to blame.” 

“ Am I very much to blame?” she inquired, archly. 

“ Yes, very much,” was his laughing answer. “It seems to me 
that a few months since I was like the old man with the muck- 
rake in ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress,’ seeking to gather only money, 
facts, and knowledge — things of use. I now am finding so 
much that is useful which I scarcely looked at before that I am 
revising my philosophy, and like it much better. The simple 
truth is, I needed just such a sister as you are to keep me from 
plodding.” 

Burt now appeared with a handful of rue-anemones, obtained 
by a rapid climb to a very sunny nook. They were the first of 
the season, and he justly believed that Amy would be delighted 
with them. But the words of Webb were more treasured, for 


200 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


they filled her with a pleased wonder. She had seen the 
changes herself to which he referred ; but how could a simple 
girl wield such an influence over the grave, studious man? 
That was the puzzle of puzzles. It was an enigma that she 
would be long in solving, and yet the explanation was her own 
simplicity, her truthfulness to all the conditions of unaffected 
girlhood. 

On the way to the house Webb delighted Johnnie and Alf by 
gathering sprays of the cherry, peach, pear, and plum, saying, 
“ Put them in water by a sunny window, and see which will 
’bloom first, these sprays or the trees out-of-doors.” The supper- 
table was graced by many woodland trophies — the “ tawny 
pendants ” of the alder that Thoreau said dusted his coat with 
sulphur-like pollen as he pressed through them to “look for 
mud-turtles,” pussywillows now well developed, the hardy ferns, 
arbutus, and other harbingers of spring, while the flowers that 
had been brought back from the church filled the room with 
fragrance. To gentle Mrs. Clifford, dwelling as she ever must 
among the shadows of pain and disease, this was the happiest 
day of the year, for it pointed forward to immortal youth and 
strength, and she loved to see it decked and garlanded like a 
bride. And so Easter passed, and became a happy memory. 


VERY MOODY, 


201 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

VERY MOODY. 

T HE next morning Amy, on looking from her window, 
could scarcely believe she was awake. She had retired 
with her mind full of spring and spring-time beauty, but the 
world without had now the aspect of January. The air was one 
swirl of snow, and trees, buildings — everything was white. In 
dismay she hastened to join the family, but was speedily re- 
assured. 

“There is nothing monotonous in American weather, and 
you must get used to our sharp alternations,” said Mr. Clifford. 
“ This snow will do good rather than harm, and the lawn will 
actually look green after it has melted, as it will speedily. The 
thing we dread is a severe frost at a far later date than this. 
The buds are still too dormant to be injured, but I have known 
the apples to be frozen on the trees when as large as walnuts.” 

“ Such snows are called the poor man’s manure,” Webb re- 
marked, “ and fertilizing gases, to a certain amount, do become 
entangled in the large wet flakes, and so are carried into the 
soil. But the poor, man will assuredly remain poor if he has no 
other means of enriching his land. What a contrast to yester- 
day ! The house on the northeast side looks as if built of 
*snow, so evenly is it plastered over. I pity the birds. They 
have scarcely sung this morning, and they look as if thoroughly 
disgusted.” 

Amy and Johnnie shared in the birds’ disapproval, but Alf 
had a boy’s affinity for snow, and resolved to construct an im- 


202 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


mense fort as soon as the storm permitted. Before the day had 
far declined the heavy flakes ceased, and the gusty wind died 
away. Johnnie forgot the budding flowers in their winding- 
sheet, and joyously aided in the construction of the fort. Down 
the sloping lawn they rolled the snow-balls, that so increased 
with every revolution that they soon rose above the children’s 
heads, and Webb and Burt’s good-natured help was required to 
pile them into ramparts. At the entrance of the stronghold an 
immense snow sentinel was fashioned, with a cord-wood stick 
for a musket. The children fairly sighed for another month of 
winter. 

All night long Nature, in a heavy fall of rain, appeared to 
weep that she had been so capricious, and the morning found 
her in as uncomfortable a mood as could be imagined. The 
slush was ankle-deep, with indefinite degrees of mud beneath, 
the air chilly and raw, and the sky filled with great ragged 
masses of cloud, so opaque and low that they appeared as if 
disrupted by some dynamic force, and threatened to fall upon 
the shadowed land. But between them the sun darted many a 
smile at his tear-stained mistress. At last they took themselves 
off like ill-affected meddlers in a love match, and the day grew 
bright and warm. By evening, spring, literally and figuratively, 
had more than regained lost ground, for, as Mr. Clifford had 
predicted, the lawn had a distinct emerald hue. Thenceforth 
the season moved forward as if there were to be no more regrets 
and nonsense. An efficient ally in the form of a southwest 
wind came to the aid of the sun, and every day Nature re- 
sponded with increasing favor. Amy no more complained that 
an American April was like early March in England ; and as 
the surface of the land grew warm and dry it was hard for her 
to remain in-doors, there was so much of life, bustle, and 
movement without. Buds were swelling on every side. Those 
of the lilac were nearly an inch long, and emitted a perfume 
of the rarest delicacy, far superior to that of the blossoms to 
come. The nests of the earlier birds were in all stages of con- 


VERY MOODY. 


203 


struction, and could be seen readily in the leafless trees. Snakes 
were crawling from their holes, and lay sunning themselves in 
the roads, to her and Johnnie’s dismay. Alf captured turtles 
that, deep in the mud, had learned the advent of spring as 
readily as the creatures of the air. The fish were ascending 
the swollen streams. “ Each rill,” as Thoreau wrote, “ is 
peopled with new life rushing up it.” Abram and Alf were 
planning a momentous expedition to a tumbling dam on the 
Moodna, the favorite resort of the sluggish suckers. New chicks 
were daily breaking their shells, and their soft, downy, ball-like 
little bodies were more to Amy’s taste than the peepers of the 
marsh. 

One Saturday morning Alf rushed in, announcing with breath- 
less haste that “ Kitten had a calf.” Kitten was a fawn-colored 
Alderney, the favorite of the barn-yard, and so gentle that even 
Johnnie did not fear to rub her rough nose, scratch her between 
her horns, or bring her wisps of grass when she was tied near 
the house. Her calf was unlike all other calves. There was no 
rest until Amy had seen it, and she admitted that she had never 
looked upon a more innocent and droll little visage. At the 
children’s pleading the infant cow was given to them, but they 
were warned to leave it for the present to Abram and Kitten’s 
care, for the latter was inclined to act like a veritable old cat 
when any one made too free with her bovine baby. 

This bright Saturday occurring about the middle of the 
month completely enthroned spring in the children’s hearts. 
The air was sweet with fragrance from the springing grass and 
swelling buds, and so still and humid that sounds from other 
farms and gardens, and songs from distant fields and groves, 
blended softly yet distinctly with those of the immediate vici- 
nage. The sunshine was warm, but veiled by fleecy clouds; 
and as the day advanced every member of the family was out- 
of-doors, even to Mrs. Clifford, for whom had been constructed, 
under her husband’s direction, a low garden-chair which was so 
light that' even Alf or Amy could draw it easily along the walks. 


204 


NATURE' S SERIAL STORY. 


From it she stepped down on her first visit of the year to her 
beloved flower-beds, which Alf and Burt were putting in order 
for her, the latter blending with his filial attentions the hope of 
seeing more of Amy. Nor was he unrewarded, for his manner 
towards his mother, whom he alternately petted and chaffed, 
while at the same time doing her bidding with manly tender- 
ness, won the young girl’s hearty good-will. The only draw- 
back was his inclination to pet her furtively even more. She 
wished that Webb was preparing the flower-beds, for then there 
would be nothing to perplex or worry her. But he, with his 
father and Leonard, was more prosaically employed, for they 
were at work in the main or vegetable garden. It was with a 
sense of immense relief that she heard Mrs. Clifford, after she 
had given her final directions, and gloated over the blooming 
crocuses and daffodils, and the budding hyacinths and tulips, 
express a wish to join her husband. 

“ Come back soon,” pleaded Burt. 

“ I’m your mother’s pony to-day,” she replied, and hastened 
away. A wide path bordered on either side by old-fashioned 
perennials and shrubbery led down through the garden. Amy 
breathed more freely as soon as she gained it, and at once gave 
herself up to the enjoyment of the pleasing sights and sounds 
on every side. Mr. Clifford was the picture of placid content as 
he sat on a box in the sun, cutting potatoes into the proper size 
for planting. Johnnie was perched on another box near, chat- 
tering incessantly as she handed him the tubers, and asking no 
other response than the old gentleman’s amused smile. Leon- 
ard with a pair of stout horses was turning up the rich black 
mould, sinking his plough to the beam, and going twice in a 
furrow. It would require a very severe drought to affect land 
pulverized thus deeply, for under Leonard’s thorough work the 
root pasturage was extended downward eighteen inches. On 
the side of the plot nearest to the house Webb was breaking 
the lumps and levelling the ground with a heavy iron-toothed 
rake, and also forking deeply the ends of the furrows that had 


VERY MOODY. 


205 


been trampled by the turning horses. Leaving Mrs. Clifford 
chatting and laughing with her husband and Johnnie, Amy stood 
in the walk opposite to him, and he said presently : 

“ Come, Amy, you can help me. You said you wanted a 
finger in our horticultural pies, and no doubt had in your mind 
nothing less plebeian than flower seeds and roses. Will your 
nose become retrousse if I ask you to aid me in planting pars- 
nips, oyster-plant, carrots, and — think of it ! — onions?” 

“ The idea of my helping you, when the best I can do is to 
amuse you with my ignorance ! But I’ll put on no airs. I do 
not look forward to an exclusive diet of roses, and am quite 
curious to know what part I can have in earning my daily 
vegetables.” 

“ A useful and typical part — that of keeping straight men 
and things in general. Wait a little ; ” and taking up a coiled 
garden line, he attached one end of it to a stout stake pressed 
firmly into the ground. He then walked rapidly over the levelled 
soil to the farther side of the plot, drew the line “ taut,” as the 
sailors say, and tied it to another stake. He next returned 
towards Amy, making a shallow drill by drawing a sharp-pointed 
hoe along under the line. From a basket near, containing 
labelled packages of seeds, he made a selection, and poured 
into a bowl something that looked like gunpowder grains, and 
sowed it rapidly in the little furrow. “ Now, Amy,” he cried, 
from the farther side of the plot, “ do you see that measuring- 
stick at your feet? Place one end of it against the stake to 
which the line is fastened, and move the stake with the line for- 
ward to the other end of the measuring-stick, just as I am do- 
ing here. That’s it. You now see how many steps you save 
me, and how much faster I can get on.” 

“Are those black-looking grains you are sowing seed?” 

“ Indeed they are, as a few weeks may prove to you by more 
senses than one. These are the seeds of a vegetable inseparable 
in its associations from classic Italy and renowned in sacred 
story. You may not share in the longings of the ancient 


20 6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Hebrews, but with its aid I could easily bring tears of deep 
feeling to your eyes.” 

“ The vegetable is more pungent than your wit, Webb,” she 
laughed ; but she stood near the path at the end of the line, 
which she moved forward from time to time as requested, 
meanwhile enjoying an April day that lacked few elements of 
perfection. 

The garden is one of the favorite haunts of the song-sparrow. 
In the flower-border near, Amy would hear such a vigorous 
scratching among the leaves that she might well believe that a 
motherly hen was at work, but presently one of these little 
sober-coated creatures that Thoreau well calls a “ ground-bird ” 
would fly to the top of a plum-tree and trill out a song as sweet 
as the perfume that came from the blossoming willows not far 
away. The busy ploughs made it a high festival for the robins, 
for with a confidence not misplaced they followed near in the 
furrows that Leonard was making in the garden, and that Abram 
was turning on an adjacent hillside, and not only the compara- 
tively harmless earth-worms suffered, but also the pestiferous 
larvae of the May-beetle, the arch-enemy of the strawberry- 
plant. Even on that day of such varied and etherealized 
fragrance, the fresh, wholesome odor of the upturned earth was 
grateful. Suddenly Webb straightened himself from the sow- 
ing of the scale-like parsnip-seed in which he was then en- 
gaged, and said, “ Listen.” Remote yet distinct, like a dream 
of a bird- song, came a simple melody from a distant field. 
“Welcome,” he said. “That’s our meadow-lark, Amy; not 
equal to your skylark, I admit. Indeed, it is not a lark at all, 
for Dr. Marvin says it belongs to the oriole family. Brief and 
simple as is its song, I think you will agree with me that spring 
brings few more lovely sounds. That is the first one that I 
have heard this year.” 

She scarcely more than caught the ethereal song before Burt 
and Alf came down the path, trundling immense wheelbarrow- 
loads of the prunings of the shrubbery around the house. These 


VERY MOODY. 


26 J 

were added to a great pile of brush and refuse that had accu- 
mulated on the other side of the walk, and to Alf was given 
the wild excitement of igniting the inflammable mass, and soon 
there was a fierce crackling as the flames devoured their way 
into the loose dry centre of the rejected debris of the previous 
year. Then to Alf and Johnnie’s unmeasured delight they were 
permitted to improvise a miniature prairie fire. A part of the 
garden had been left to grow very weedy in the preceding sum- 
mer, and they were shown how that by lighting the dry, dead 
material on the windward side, the flames, driven by a gentle 
western breeze, would sweep across the entire plot, leaving it 
bare and blackened, ready for the fertilizers and the plough. 
With merry cries they followed the sweeping line of fire, aiding 
it forward by catching up on iron rakes burning wisps and trans- 
ferring them to spots in the weedy plot that did not kindle 
readily. Little Ned, clinging to the hand of Maggie, who had 
joined the family in the garden, looked on with awe-struck eyes. 
From the bonfire and the consuming weeds great volumes of 
smoke poured up and floated away, the air was full of pungent 
odors, and the robins called vociferously back and forth through 
the garden, their alarmed and excited cries vying with the chil- 
dren’s shouts. In half an hour only a faint haze of smoke to 
the eastward indicated the brief conflagration ; the family had 
gone to the house for their one-o’clock dinner, and the birds 
were content with the normal aspect of the old garden in 
April. 

The promise of the bright spring day was not fulfilled. Cold 
rains followed by frosty mornings and high cool winds prevailed 
with depressing persistency. It required almost as much vigor, 
courage, and activity as had been essential in March to enjoy 
out-door life. In many of her aspects Nature appeared almost 
to stand still and wait for more genial skies, and yet for those 
who watched to greet and to welcome, the mighty impulse of 
spring manifested itself in many ways. The currant and goose- 
berry bushes, as if remembering their original haunts in dim, 


20 8 


NATL/RE'S SERIAL STORY. 


cold, boggy forests, put forth their foliage without, hesitation. 
From the elm-trees swung the little pendent blossoms that pre- 
cede the leaves. The lilacs and some other hardy shrubs grew 
green and fragrant daily. Nothing daunted, the crocuses, hya- 
cinths, and tulips pushed upward their succulent leaves with 
steady resolution. In the woods the flowers had all kinds of 
experiences. On the north' side of Storm King it was still 
winter, with great areas of December’s ice unmelted. On the 
south side of the mountain, spring almost kept pace with the 
calendar. The only result was that the hardy little children of 
April, on which had hung more snow-flakes than dew, obtained 
a longer lease of blooming life, and could have their share in 
garlanding the May Queen. They bravely faced the frosty 
nights and drenching rains, becoming types of those lives whose 
beauty is only enhanced by adversity — of those who make 
better use of a little . sunny prosperity to bless the world than 
others on whom good-fortune ever seems to wait. 

The last Saturday of the month was looked forward to with 
hopeful expectations, as a genial earnest of May, and a chance 
for out-door pleasures ; but with it came a dismal rain-storm, 
which left the ground as cold, wet, and sodden as it had been 
a month before. The backward season, of which the whole 
country was now complaining, culminated on the following 
morning, which ushered in a day of remarkable vicissitude. By 
rapid transition the rain passed into sleet, then snow, which 
flurried down so rapidly that the land grew white and wintry, 
making it almost impossible to imagine that two months of 
spring had passed. By io a.m. the whirling flakes ceased, but 
a more sullen, leaden, March-like sky never lowered over a 
cold, dripping earth. On the north side of the house' a white 
hyacinth was seen hanging its pendent blossoms half in and 
half out of the snow, and Alf, who in response to Dr. Marvin’s 
suggestion was following some of the family fortunes among 
the homes in the trees, came in and said that he had found 
nests well hidden by a covering all too cold, with the resolute 


VERY MOODY. 


2O9 


mother bird protecting her eggs, although chilled, wet, and 
shivering herself. By 1 p.m. the clouds grew thin, rolled away, 
and disappeared. The sun broke out with a determined warmth 
and power, and the snow vanished like a spectre of the long- 
past winter. The birds took heart, and their songs of exulta- 
tion resounded from far and near. A warm south breeze sprang 
up and fanned Amy’s cheek, as she, with the children and 
Burt, went out for their usual Sunday-afternoon walk. They 
found the flowers looking up hopefully, but with melted snow 
hanging like tears on their pale little faces. The sun at last 
sank into the unclouded west, illumining the sky with a warm, 
golden promise for the future. Amy gazed at its departing 
glory, but Burt looked at her — looked so earnestly, so wistfully, 
that she was full of compunction even while she welcomed the 
return of the children, which delayed the words that were 
trembling on his lips. He was ready, she was not; and he 
walked homeward at her side silent and depressed, feeling that 
the receptive, responsive spring was later in her heart than in 
Nature. 


210 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

SHAD-FISHING BY PROXY. 

A CCORDING to the almanac, May was on time to a second, 
but Nature seemed unaware of the fact. Great bodies of 
snow covered the Adirondack region, and not a little still re- 
mained all the way southward through the Catskills and the 
Highlands, about the head-waters of the Delaware, and its cold 
breath benumbed the land. Johnnie’s chosen intimates had 
given her their suffrages as May Queen ; but prudent Maggie 
had decided that the crowning ceremonies should not take 
place until May truly appeared, with its warmth and floral 
wealth. Therefore, on the first Saturday of the month, Leonard 
planned a half-holiday, which should not only compensate the 
disappointed children, but also give his busy wife a little outing. 
He had learned that the tide was right for crossing the shallows 
of the Moodna Creek, and they would all go fishing. Johnnie’s 
friends and Dr. and Mrs. Marvin were invited, and great were 
the preparations. Reed and all kinds of poles were taken down 
from their hooks, or cut in a neighboring thicket, the country 
store was depleted of its stock of rusty hooks and stray corks 
were fastened on the brown linen lines for floats. Burt dis- 
dained to take his scientific tackle, and indeed there was little 
use for it in Moodna Creek, but he joined readily in the frolic. 
He would be willing to fish indefinitely for even minnows, if at 
the same time there was a chance to angle for Amy. Some 
preferred to walk to the river, and with the aid of the family 
rockaway the entire party were at the boat-house before the 


SHAD-FISHING BY PROXY. 


21 1 


sun had passed much beyond the meridian. Burt, from • his 
intimate knowledge of the channel, acted as pilot, and was 
jubilant over the fact that Amy consented to take an oar with 
him and receive a lesson in rowing. Mrs. Marvin held the 
tiller-ropes, and the doctor was to use a pair of oars when re- 
quested to do so. Webb and Leonard took charge of the 
larger boat, of which Johnnie, as hostess, was captain, and a 
jolly group of little boys and girls made the echoes ring, while 
Ned, with his thumb in his mouth, clung close to his mother, 
and regarded the nautical expedition rather dubiously. They 
swept across the flats to the deeper water near Plum Point, and 
so up the Moodna, whose shores were becoming green with the 
rank growth of the bordering marsh. Passing under an old 
covered bridge they were soon skirting an island from which 
rose a noble grove of trees, whose swollen buds were only wait- 
ing for a warmer caress of the sun to unfold. Returning, they 
beached their boats below the bridge, under whose shadow the 
fish were fond of lying. The little people were disembarked, 
and placed at safe distances; for, if near, they would surely 
hook each other, if never a fin. Silence was enjoined, and 
there was a breathless hush for the space of two minutes ; then 
began whispers more resonant than those of the stage, followed 
by acclamations as Johnnie pulled up a wriggling eel, of which 
she was in mortal terror. They all had good sport, however, 
for the smaller fry of the finny tribes that haunted the vicinity 
of the old bridge suffered from the well-known tendency of 
extreme youth to take everything into its mouth. Indeed, at 
that season, an immature sun-fish will take a hook if there is 
but a remnant of a worm upon it. The day was good for fishing, 
since thin clouds darkened the water. Amy was the heroine 
of the party, for Burt had furnished her with a long, light pole, 
and taught her to throw her line well away from the others. As 
a result she soon took, amidst excited plaudits, several fine 
yellow perch. At last Leonard shouted : 

“ You shall not have all the honors, Amy. I have a hook in 


212 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


my pocket that will catch bigger fish than you have seen to-day. 
Come, the tide is going out, and we must go out of the creek 
with it unless we wish to spend the night on a sand-bar. I 
shall now try my luck at shad-fishing over by Polopel’s Island.” 

The prospect of crossing the river and following the drift- 
nets down into the Highlands was a glad surprise to all, and 
they were soon in Newburgh Bay, whose broad lake-like surface 
was unruffled by a breath. The sun, declining towards the west, 
scattered rose-hues among the clouds. Sloops and schooners 
had lost steerage-way, and their sails flapped idly against the 
masts. The grind of oars between the thole-pins came dis- 
tinctly across the water from far-distant boats, while songs and 
calls of birds, faint and etherealized, reached them from the 
shores. Rowing towards a man rapidly paying out a net from 
the stern of his boat they were soon hailed by Mr. Marks, who 
with genial good-nature invited them to see the sport. He had 
begun throwing his net over in the middle of the river, his oars- 
man rowing eastward with a slight inclination towards the south, 
for the reason that the tide is swifter on the western side. The 
aim is to keep the net as straight as possible and at right angles 
with the tide. The two boats were soon following Mr. Marks 
On either side, the smooth water and the absence of wind en- 
abling them to keep near and converse without effort. Away 
in their wake bobbed the cork floats in an irregular line, and 
from these floats, about twenty feet below the surface, was sus- 
pended the net, which extended down thirty or forty feet 
farther, being kept in a vertical position by iron rings strung 
along its lower edge at regular intervals. Thus the lower side 
of the net was from fifty to sixty feet below the surface. In 
shallow water narrower nets are rigged to float vertically much 
nearer the surface. Mr. Marks explained that his net was about 
half a mile long, adding, 

“ It’s fun fishing on a day like this, but it’s rather tough in a 
gale of wind, with your eyes half blinded by rain, and the 
waves breaking into your boat. Yes, we catch just as many 


SHAD-FISHIJVG BY PROXY. 


213 


then, perhaps more, for there are fewer men out, and I suppose 
the weather is always about the same, except as to temperature, 
down where the shad are. The fish don’t mind wet weather ; 
neither must we if we make a business of catching them.” 

“ Do you always throw out your net from the west shore 
towards the east ? ” Webb asked. 

“ No, we usually pay out against the wind. With the wind 
the boat is apt to go too fast. The great point is to keep the 
net straight and not all tangled and wobbled up. Passing boats 
bother us, too. Sometimes a float will catch on a paddle- 
wheel, and like enough half of the net will be torn away. A 
pilot with any human feeling will usually steer one side, and 
give a fellow a chance, and we can often bribe the skipper of 
sailing-craft by holding up a shad and throwing it aboard as he 
tacks around us. As a rule, however, boats of all kinds pass 
over a net without doing any harm. Occasionally a net breaks 
from the floats and drags on the bottom. This is covered with 
cinders thrown out by steamers, and they play the mischief.” 

“ Do the fish swim against the tide ? ” 

“ Usually, but they come in on both sides.” 

“ Mr. Marks, how can you catch fish in a net that is straight 
up and down? ” Amy asked. 

“ You’ll soon see, but I’ll explain. The meshes of the net 
will stretch five inches. A shad swims into one of these and 
then, like many others that go into things, finds he can’t back 
out, for his gills catch on the sides of the mesh and there he 
hangs. Occasionally a shad will just tangle himself up and so 
be caught, and sometimes we take a large striped bass in this 
way.” 

In answer to a question of Burt’s he continued : “ I just let 
my net float with the tide as you see, giving it a pull from one 
end or the other now and then to keep it as straight and as 
near at right angles with the river as possible. When the tide 
stops running out and turns a little we begin at one end of the 
net and pull it up, taking out the fish, at the same time laying it 



214 NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 

carefully in folds on a platform in the stern-sheets, so as to pre- 
vent all tangles. If the net comes up clear and free, I may throw 
it in again and float back with the tide. So far from being able 
to depend on this, we often have to go ashore where there is a 
smooth beach before our drift is over and disentangle our net. 
There, now, I’m through with paying out. Haven’t you noticed 
the floats bobbing here and there ? ” 


SHAD-FISHING ON THE HUDSON. 

“We’ve been too busy listening and watching you,” said 
Leonard. 

“ Well, now, watch the floats. If you see one bob under and 
wobble, a shad has struck the net near it, and I can go and 
take him out. In smooth water it’s like fishing with one of 
your little cork bobbers there on your lines. I’ll give the shad 
to the first one that sees a float bob under.” 


/ 


SHAD-FISHING B Y PROXY. 2 1 5 

Alf nearly sprang out of the boat as he pointed and shouted, 
“There, there.” 

Laughing good-naturedly, Mr. Marks lifted the net beneath 
the float, and, sure enough, there was a great roe-shad hanging 
by his gills, and Alf gloated over his supper, already secured. 

The fish were running well, and there were excited calls and 
frantic pointings, in which at first even the older members of 
the party joined, and every few moments a writhing shad 
flashed in the slanting rays as it was tossed into the boat. Up 
and down the long, irregular line of floats the boats passed and 
repassed until excitement verged towards satiety, and the sun, 
near the horizon, with a cloud canopy of crimson and gold, 
warned the merry fishers by proxy that their boats should be 
turned homeward. Leonard pulled out what he termed his 
silver hook, and supplied not only the Clifford family, but all 
of Johnnie’s guests, with fish so fresh that they had as yet 
scarcely realized that they were out of water. 

“ Now, Amy,” said Burt, “ keep stroke with me,” adding, in 
a whisper, “ no fear but that we can pull well together.” 

Her response was, “ One always associates a song with row- 
ing. Come, strike up, and let us keep the boats abreast that 
all may join.” 

He, well content, started a familiar boating song, to which 
• the splash of their oars made musical accompaniment. A pass- 
ing steamer saluted them, and a moment later the boats rose 
gracefully over the swells. The glassy river flashed back the 
crimson of the clouds, the eastern slopes of the mountains 
donned their royal purple, the intervening shadows of valleys 
making the folds of their robes. As they approached the shore 
the resonant song of the robins blended with the human voices. 
Burt, however, heard only Amy’s girlish soprano, and saw but 
the pearl of her teeth through her parted lips, the rose in her 
cheeks, and the snow of her neck. 

Final words were spoken and all were soon at home. Maggie 
took the household helm with a fresh and vigorous grasp. 


21 6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


What a supper she improvised ! The maids never dawdled 
when she directed, and by the time the hungry fishermen were 
ready, the shad that two hours before had been swimming deep 
in the Hudson lay browned to a turn on the ample platter. 
“ It is this quick transition that gives to game fish their most 
exquisite flavor,” Burt remarked. 

“Are shad put down among the game fish?” his father 
asked. 

“ Yes ; they were included not very long ago, and most justly, 
too, as I can testify to-night. I never tasted anything more 
delicious, except trout. If a shad were not so bony it would be 
almost perfection when eaten under the right conditions. Not 
many on the Hudson are aware of the fact, perhaps, but angling 
for them is fine sport in some rivers. They will take a fly in 
the Connecticut and Housatonic ; but angle-worms and other 
bait are employed in the Delaware and Southern rivers. The 
best time to catch them is early in the morning, and from six 
to eight in the evening. At dusk one may cast for them in still 
water, as for trout. The Hudson is too big, I suppose, and the 
water too deep, although I see no reason why the young fry 
should not be caught in our river as well as in the Delaware. I 
have read of their biting voraciously in September at a short 
distance above Philadelphia.” 

“ Do you mean to say that our rivers are full of shad in * 
August and September?” Leonard asked. 

“ Yes ; that is, of young shad on the way to the sea. The 
females that are running up now will spawn in the upper and 
shallow waters of the river, and return to the ocean by the end 
of June, and in the autumn the small fry will also go to the sea, 
the females to remain there two years. The males will come 
back next spring, and these young males are called ‘ chicken 
shad ’ on the Connecticut. Multitudes of these half-grown fish 
are taken in seines, and sold as herrings or ‘ alewives ; ’ for the 
true herring does not run up into fresh water. Young shad are 
said to have teeth, and they live largely on insects, while the 


SHAD-FISHING BY PROXY. 


217 


full-grown fish have no teeth, and feed chiefly on animalcules 
that form the greater part of the slimy growths that cover 
nearly everything that is long under water.” 

“ Well, I never had so much shad before in my life,” said his 
father, laughing, and pushing back his chair; “and, Burt, I 
have enjoyed those you have served up in the water almost as 
much as those dished under Maggie’s superintendence.” 

“ I should suppose that the present mode of fishing with 
drift-nets was cheaper and more profitable than the old method 
of suspending the nets between poles,” Leonard remarked. 

“ It is indeed,” Burt continued, vivaciously, for he observed 
that Amy was listening with interest. “Poles, too, form a 
serious obstruction. Once, years ago, I was standing near the 
guards of a steamboat, when I heard the most awful grating, 
rasping sound, and a moment later a shad-pole gyrated past me 
with force enough to brain an elephant had it struck him. It 
was good fun, though, in old times to go out and see them 
raise the nets, for they.often came up heavy with fish. Strange 
to say, a loon was once pulled up with the shad. Driven by 
fear, it must have dived so vigorously as to entangle itself, for 
there it hung with its head and one leg fast. I suppose that 
the last moment of consciousness that the poor bird had was 
one of strong surprise.” 


218 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

MAY AND GIRLHOOD. 

M AY came in reality the following morning. Perhaps she 
thought that the leisure of Sunday would secure her a 
more appreciative welcome. The wind no longer blew from 
the chill and still snowy North, but from lands that had long 
since responded to the sun’s genial power. Therefore, the 
breeze that came and went fitfully was like a warm, fragrant 
breath, and truly it seemed to breathe life and beauty into all 
things. During the morning hours the cluster buds of the 
cherry burst their varnished-looking sheath, revealing one third 
of the little green stems on which the blossoms would soon 
appear. The currant-bushes were hanging out their lengthen- 
ing racemes, and the hum of many bees proved that honey may 
be gathered even from gooseberry-bushes, thus suggesting a 
genial philosophy. The sugar-maples were beginning to unfold 
their leaves and to dangle their emerald gold flowers from long, 
drooping pedicles. Few objects have more exquisite and deli- 
cate beauty than this inflorescence when lighted up by the low 
afternoon sun. The meadows and oat fields were passing into 
a vivid green, and the hardy rye had pushed on so resolutely in 
all weathers, that it was becoming billowy under the wind. Ah 
through the week the hues of life and bqauty became more and 
more apparent upon the face of Nature, and by the following 
Saturday May had provided everything in perfection for 
Johnnie’s coronation ceremonies. 

For weefe past there had. been distinguished arrivals from. 


MA Y AND GIRLHOOD. 219 

the South almost daily. Some of these songsters, like the fox- 
sparrow, sojourned a few weeks, favoring all listeners with their 
sweet and simple melodies ; but the chief musician of the 
American forests, the hermit thrush, passed silently, and would 
not deign to utter a note of his unrivalled minstrelsy until he 
had reached his remote haunts at the North. Dr. Marvin 
evidently had a grudge against this shy, distant bird, and often 
complained, “ Why can’t he give us a song or two as he lingers 
here in his journey? I often see him flitting about in the 
mountains, and have watched him by the hour with the curi- 
osity that prompts one to look at a great soprano or tenor, hop- 
ing that he might indulge me with a brief song as a sample of 
what he could do, but he was always royally indifferent and 
reserved. I am going to the Adirondacks on purpose to hear 
him some day. There’s the winter wren, too — saucy, inquisi- 
tive little imp ! — he was here all winter, and has left us without 
vouchsafing a note. But, then, great singers are a law unto 
themselves the world over.” 

But the doctor had small cause for complaint, for there are 
few regions more richly endowed with birds than the valley of 
the Hudson. As has been seen, it is the winter resort of not a 
few, and is, moreover, a great highway of migration, for birds 
are ever prone to follow the watercourses that run north and 
south. The region also affords so wide a choice of locality and 
condition that the tastes of very many birds are suited. There 
are numerous gardens and a profusion of fruit for those that 
are half domesticated ; orchards abounding in old trees with 
knot-holes, admirably .fitted for summer homes ; elms on which 
to hang the graceful pensile nests — “ castles in air,” as Bur- 
roughs calls them ; meadows in which the lark, vesper sparrow, 
and bobolink can disport; and forests stretching up into the 
mountains, wherein the shyest birds can enjoy all the seclusion 
they desire, content to sing unheard, as the flowers around them 
bloom unseen, except by those who love them well enough to 
seek them in their remotest haunts. 


220 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


The week which preceded the May party was a memorable 
one to Amy, for during its sunny days she saw an American 
spring in its perfection. Each morning brought rich surprises 
to her, Johnnie, and Alf, and to Webb an increasing wonder 
that he had never before truly seen the world in which he lived. 
The pent-up forces of Nature, long restrained, seemed finding 
new expression every hour. Tulips opened their gaudy chalices 
to catch the morning dew. Massive spikes of hyacinths dis- 
tilled a rich perfume that was none too sweet in the open air. 
Whenever Amy stepped from the door it seemed that some new 
flower had opened and some new development of greenery and 
beauty had been revealed. But the crowning glory in the near 
landscape were the fruit trees. The cherry boughs grew white 
every day, and were closely followed by the plum and pear and 
the pink-hued peach blossoms. Even Squire Bartley’s un- 
attractive place was transformed for a time into fairy-land ; but 
he, poor man, saw not the blossoms, and the birds and boys 
stole his fruit. Amy wondered at the wealth of flowers that 
made many of the trees as white as they had been on the 
snowiest day of winter, and Johnnie revelled in them, often 
climbing up into some low-branched tree, that she might bury 
herself in their beauty, and inhale their fragrance in long breaths 
of delight. The bees that filled the air about her with their 
busy hum never molested her, believing, no doubt, that she had 
as good a right as themselves to enjoy the sweets in her way. 
After all, it was Mrs. Clifford, perhaps, who obtained the pro- 
foundest enjoyment from the season. Seated by her window or 
in a sunny corner of the piazza, she would watch the unfolding 
buds as if she were listening to some sweet old story that had 
grown dearer with every repetition. Indeed, this was true, for 
with the blossoms of every year were interwoven the memories 
of a long life, and their associations had scarcely ever been 
more to her heart than the new ones now forming. She often 
saw, with her children and grandchildren, the form of a tall girl 
passing to and fro, and to her loving eyes Amy seemed to be 


MA V AND GIRLHOOD . 


221 


the fairest and sweetest flower of this gala period. She, and 
indeed they all, had observed Burt’s strongly manifested prefer- 
ence, but, with innate refinement and good sense, there had 
been a tacit agreement to appear blind. The orphan girl 
should not be annoyed by even the most delicate raillery, but 
the old lady and her husband could not but feel the deepest 
satisfaction that Burt was making so wise a choice. They liked 
Amy all the better because she was so little disposed to senti- 
ment, and proved that she was not to be won easily. 

But they all failed to understand her, and gave her credit for 
a maturity that she did not possess. In her happy, healthful 
country life the girlish form that had seemed so fragile when she 
first came to them was taking on the rounded lines of womanhood. 
Why should she not be wooed like other girls at her age? 
Burt was farther astray than any one else, and was even inclined 
to complain mentally that her nature was cold and unresponsive. 
And yet her very reserve and elusiveness increased his passion, 
which daily acquired a stronger mastery. Webb alone half 
guessed the truth in regard to her. As time passed, and he saw 
the increasing evidences of Burt’s feeling, he was careful that 
bis manner should be strictly fraternal towards Amy, for his 
impetuous brother was not always disposed to be reasonable 
e\ren in his normal condition, and now he was afflicted with a 
malady that has often brought to shame the wisdom of the 
wisest. The elder brother saw how easily Burt’s jealousy could 
be aroused, and therefore denied himself many an hour of the 
young girl’s society, although it caused him a strange little 
heartache to do so. But he was very observant, for Amy was 
becoming a deeply interesting study. He saw and appreciated 
her delicate fence with Burt, in which tact, kindness, and a 
little girlish brusqueness were almost equally blended. Was it 
the natural coyness of a high-spirited girl, who could be won 
only by long and patient effort ? or was it an instinctive self-de- 
fence from a suit that she could not repulse decisively without 
giving pain to those she loved? Why was she so averse? 


222 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Their home-life, even at that busy season, gave him opportuni- 
ties to see her often, and glimmerings of the truth began to 
dawn upon him. He saw that she enjoyed the society of Alf 
and Johnnie almost as much as that of the other members of 
the family, that her delight at every new manifestation of spring 
was as unforced as that of the children, while at the same time 
it was an intelligent and questioning interest. The beauty of 
the world without impressed her deeply, as it did Johnnie, but 
to the latter it was a matter of course, while to Amy it was be- 
coming an inviting mystery. The little girl would bring some 
new flower from the woods or garden, the first of the season, in 
contented triumph, but to Amy the flower had a stronger inter- 
est. It represented something unknown, a phase of life which it 
was the impulse of her developing mind to explore. Her botany 
was not altogether satisfactory, for analysis and classification do 
not reveal to us a flower or plant any more than the mention of 
a name and family connection makes known individual character. 
Her love for natural objects was too real to be satisfied with a few 
scientific facts about them. If a plant, tree, or bird interested 
her she would look at it with a loving, lingering glance until she 
felt that she was learning to know it somewhat as she would 
recognize a friend. The rapid changes which each day brought 
were like new chapters in a stcyy, or new verses in a poem. 
She watched with admiring wonder the transition of buds into 
blossoms ; and their changes of form and color. She shared in 
Alfs excitement over the arrival of every new bird from the 
South, and, having a good ear for music, found absorbing pleas- 
ure in learning and estimating the quality and characteristics of 
their various songs. Their little oddities appealed to her sense 
of humor. A pair of cat-birds that had begun their nest near 
the house received from her more ridicule than admiration. 
“They seem to be regular society birds and gossips,” she said, 
“and I can never step out-of-doors but I feel that they are 
watching me, and trying to attract my attention. They have a 
pretty song, but they seem to have learned it by heart, and as 


MA Y AND GIRLHOOD. 


223 


soon as they are through they make that horrid noise, as if in 
their own natural tone they were saying something disagreeable 
about you.” 

But on the morning of Johnnie’s coronation she was wak- 
ened by songs as entrancing as they were unfamiliar. Running 
to the window, she saw darting through the trees birds of such 
a brilliant flame color that they seemed direct from the tropics, 
and their notes were almost as varied as their colors. She 
speedily ceased to heed them, however, for from the edge of 
the nearest grove came a melody so -ethereal and sustained that 
it thrilled her with the delight that one experiences when some 
great singer lifts up her voice with a power and sweetness that 
we feel to be divine. At the same moment she saw Alf run- 
ning towards the house. Seeing her at the window, he shouted, 
“ Amy, the orioles and the wood-thrushes — the finest birds of 
the year — have come. Hurry up and go with me to the grove 
yonder.” 

Soon after Webb, returning from a distant field to breakfast, 
met her near the grove. She was almost as breathless and ex- 
cited as the boy, and passed him with a bright hurried smile, 
while she pressed on after her guide with noiseless steps lest 
the shy songster should be frightened. He looked after her 
and listened, feeling that eye and ear could ask for no fuller 
enchantment. At last she came back to him with the fresh 
loveliness of the morning in her face, and exclaimed, “ I have 
seen an ideal bird, and he wears his plumage like a quiet-toned 
elegant costume that simply suggests a perfect form. He was 
superbly indifferent, and scarcely looked at us until we came 
too near, and then, with a reserved dignity, flew away. He is 
the true poet of the woods, and would sing just as sweetly if 
there was never a listener.” 

“ I knew he would not disappoint you. Yes, he is a poet, 
and your true aristocrat, who commands admiration without 
seeking it,” Webb replied. 

“I am sure he justifies all your praises, past and present 


224 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Oh, isn’t the morning lovely — so fresh, dewy, and fragrant? 
and the world looks so young and glad ! ” 

“You also look young and glad this morning, Amy.” 

“ How can one help it? This May beauty makes me feel as 
young as Alf,” she replied, placing her hand on the boy’s 
shoulder. 

Her face was flushed with exercise ; her step buoyant ; her 
eyes were roaming over the landscape tinted with fruit blossoms 
and the expanding foliage. Webb saw in what deep accord her 
spirit was with the season, and he thought, “ She is young — - in 
the very May of her life. She is scarcely more ready for the 
words that Burt would speak than little Johnnie. I wish he 
would wait till the girl becomes a woman ; ” and then for some 
reason he sighed deeply. Amy gave him an arch look, and 
said, 

“ That came from the depths, Webb. What secret sorrow 
can you have on a day like this? ” 

He laughed, but made no reply. 

“Ah, listen !” she cried, “what bird is that? Oh, isn’t it 
beautiful ? — almost equal to the thrush’s song. He seems to 
sing as if his notes were written for him in couplets.” She 
spoke at intervals, looking towards the grove they had just left, 
and when the bird paused Webb replied, 

“That is the wood-thrush’s own cousin, and a distinguished 
member of the thrush family, the brown- thrasher. Well, John- 
nie,” he added, to the little girl who had come to meet them, 
“ you are honored to-day. Three of our most noted minstrels 
have arrived just in time to furnish music for the May Queen.” 

But Johnnie was not surprised, only pleased, as Webb and 
others congratulated her. She would be queen that day with 
scarcely more self-consciousness than one of the flowers that 
decked her. It was the occasion, the carnival of spring, that 
occupied her thoughts, and, since the fairest blossoms of the 
season were to be gathered, why should not the finest birds be 
present also ? 


MA Y AND GIRLHOOD. 


225 


Feeling that he had lost an opportunity in the improvised 
festival of the maple-sugar grove, Burt resolved to make the 
most of this occasion, and he had the wisdom to decide upon 
a course that relieved Amy of not a little foreboding. He de- 
termined to show his devotion by thoughtful considerateness, 
by making the day so charming and satisfactory as to prove 
that he could be a companion after her own heart. And he 
succeeded fairly well for a time, only the girl’s intuition divined 
his motive and guessed his sentiments. She was ever in fear 
that his restraint would give way. And yet she felt that she 
ought to reward him for what she mentally termed his “ sensible 
behavior,” and indicate that such should be his course in the 
future. But this was a delicate and difficult task. In spite of 
all the accumulated beauty of the season the day was less bright, 
less full of the restful, happy abandon of the previous one in 
March, when Webb had been her undemonstrative attendant. 
He, with Leonard, at that busy period found time to look in 
upon the revellers in the woods but once. Mr. Clifford spent 
more time with them, but the old gentleman was governed by 
his habit of promptness, and the time called for despatch. 

For the children, however, it was a revel that left nothing to 
be desired. They had decided that it should be a congress of 
flowers, from the earliest that had bloomed to those now open- 
ing in the sunniest haunts. Alf, with one or two other adven- 
turous boys, had climbed the northern face of old Storm King, 
and brought away the last hepaticas, fragrant clusters of arbutus, 
and dicentras, for “ pattykers, arbuties, and Dutcher’s breeches,” 
as Ned called them, were favorites that could not be spared. 
On a sunny slope dogwood, well advanced, was found. There 
were banks white with the rue-anemone, and they were marked, 
that some of the little tuber-like roots might be taken up in the 
fall for forcing in the house. Myriads of violets gave a purple 
tinge to parts of a low meadow near, and chubby hands were 
stained with the last of the star-like bloodroot blossoms, many 
of which dropped white petals on their way to Johnnie’s throne. 


22 6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Some brought handfuls of columbine from rocky nooks, and 
others the purple trillium, that is near of kin to Burroughs’s 
white “ wake-robin.” There were so many Jacks-in-the-pulpit 
that one might fear a controversy, but the innumerable dande- 
lions and dogtooth violets which carpeted the ground around 
the throne diffused so mellow a light that all the blossoms felt 
that they looked well and were amiable. But it would require 
pages even to mention all the flowers that were brought from 
gardens, orchards, meadows, groves, and rugged mountain 
slopes. Each delegation of blossoms and young tinted foliage 
was received by Amy, as mistress of ceremonies, and arranged 
in harmonious positions ; while Johnnie, quite forgetful of her 
royalty, was as ready to help at anything as the humblest maid 
of lionor. All the flowers were treated tenderly except the 
poor purple violets, and these were slaughtered by hundreds, 
for the projecting spur under the curved stem at the base of 
the flower enabled the boys to hook them together, and “ fight 
roosters,” as they termed it. Now and then some tough- 
stemmed violet would “ hook off” a dozen blue heads before 
losing its own, and it became the temporary hero. At last the 
little queen asserted her power by saying, with a sudden flash 
in her dark blue eyes, that she “ wouldn’t have any more fight- 
ing roosters. She didn’t think it was nice.” 

“ By one o’clock the queen had been crowned, the lunch had 
met the capacity of even the boys, and the children, circling 
round the throne, were singing : “ Oats, peas, beans, and bar- 
ley grows,” and kindred rhymes, their voices rising and falling 
with the breeze, the birds warbling an accompaniment. Webb 
and Leonard, at work in a field not far away, often paused to 
listen, the former never failing to catch Amy’s clear notes as she 
sat on a rock, the gentle power behind the throne, that had 
maintained peace and good-will among all the little fractious 
subjects. 

The day had grown almost sultry, and early in the afternoon 
there was a distant jar of thunder. Burt, who from a bed q{ 


MA Y AND GIRLHOOD. 


22J 

dry leaves had been watching Amy, started up and saw that 
there was an ominous cloud in the west. She agreed with him 
that it would be prudent to return at once, for she was growing 
weary and depressed. Burt, with all his effort to be quietly and 
unobtrusively devoted, had never permitted her to become un- 
conscious of his presence and feeling. Therefore her experi- 
ence had been a divided one. She could not abandon herself 
to her hearty sympathy with the children and their pleasure, for 
he, by manner at least, ever insisted that she was a young lady, 
and the object of thoughts all too warm. Her nature was so 
fine that it was wounded and annoyed by an unwelcome admi- 
ration. She did not wish to think about it, but was not per- 
mitted to forget it. She had been genial, merry, yet guarded 
towards him all day, and now had begun to long for the rest 
and refuge of her own room. He felt that he had not made 
progress, and was also depressed, and he showed this so plainly 
on their way home that she was still more perplexed and 
troubled. “ If he would only be sensible, and treat me as 
Webb does ! ” she exclaimed, as she threw herself on the lounge 
in her room, exhausted rather than exhilarated by the experi- 
ence of the day. 


228 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
nature’s workshop. 

D URING the hour she slept an ideal shower crossed the sky. 

In the lower strata of air there was scarcely any wind, and 
the rain came down vertically, copiously, and without beating 
violence. The sun-warmed earth took in every drop like a great 
sponge. Beyond the first muttered warning to the little May 
party in the grove there was no thunder. The patter of the 
rain was a gentle lullaby to Amy, and at last she was wakened 
by a ray of sunlight playing upon her face, yet she still heard 
the soft fall of rain. With the elasticity of youth, she sprang 
up, feeling that the other cloud that had shadowed her thoughts 
might soon pass also. As she went singing down the stairway, 
Webb called from the front door : 

“ Amy, look here ! I was hoping you would come. See 
that rainbow.” The cloud still hung heavily over the eastern 
mountains, while against it was a magnificent arch, and so dis- 
tinctly defined that its feet appeared to rest on the two banks 
of the river. They watched it in silence until it faded away, 
and the whole scene, crowned with flowers and opening foliage 
tinted like blossoms of varied hues, was gemmed with crystals 
by the now unclouded, sun, for the soft rain had clung to every- 
thing, from the loftiest tree-top to the tiniest spire of grass. 
Flame-like orioles were flashing through the perfumed air. 
Robins, with their heads lifted heavenward, were singing as 
rapturously as if they were saints rather than rollicking gorman- 
dizers. Every bird that had a voice was lifting it up in thanks- 


NATURE'S WORKSHOP. 


229 

giving, but clear, sweet, and distinct above them all came the 
notes of the wood-thrush, with his Beethoven-like melody. 

“Have you no words for a scene like this, Webb?” she 
asked, at last. 

“ It is beyond all words, Amy. It is one of nature’s miracles. 
My wonder exceeds even my admiration, for the greater part 
of this infinite variety of beauty is created out of so few mate- 
rials and by so simple yet mysterious a method that I can 
scarcely believe it, although I see it and know it. Men have 
always agreed to worship the genius which could achieve the 
most with the least. And yet the basis of nearly all we see is a 
microscopic cell endowed with essential powers. That large 
apple-tree yonder, whose buds are becoming so pink, started 
from one of these minute cells, and all the growth, beauty, and 
fruitfulness since attained were the result of the power of this 
one cell to add to itself myriads of like cells, which form the 
whole structure. It is cell adding cells that is transforming 
the world around us.” He spoke earnestly, and almost as if he 
were thinking aloud, and he looked like one in the presence of 
a mystery that awed him. The hue of Amy’s eyes deepened, 
and her face flushed in her quickened interest. Her own mind 
had been turning to kindred thoughts and questionings. She 
had passed beyond the period when a mind like hers could be 
satisfied with the mere surface of things, and Webb’s direct ap- 
proach to the very foundation principles of what she saw sent a 
thrill through all her nerves as an heroic deed would have done. 

“ Can you not show me one of those cells with your micro- 
scope ? ” she asked, eagerly. 

“Yes, easily, and some of its contents through the cell’s 
transparent walls, as, for instance, the minute grains of chloro- 
phyll ’ that is, the green of leaves. All the hues of foliage and 
flowers are caused by what the cells contain, and these, to a 
certain extent, can be seen and analyzed. But there is one thing 
within the cell which I cannot show you, and which has never 
been seen, and yet it accounts for everything, and is the archi- 


230 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


tect of all — life. When we reach the cell we are at the thresh- 
old of this mysterious presence. We know that it is within. 
We can see its work, for its workshop is under our eye, and in 
this minute shop it is building all the vegetation of the world, 
tut the artisan itself ever remains invisible.” 

“ Ah, Webb, do not say artisan, but rather artist. Does not 
the beauty all around us prove it? Surely there is but one ex- 
planation, the one papa taught me : it is the power of God. 
He is in the little as well as in the great. Do you not believe 
so, Webb?” 

“ Well, Amy,” he replied, smilingly, “ the faith taught you by 
your father is, to my mind, more rational than any of the ex- 
planations that I have read, and I have studied several. But 
then I know little, indeed, compared with multitudes of others. 
I am sure, however, that the life of God is in some way the 
source of all the life we see. But perplexing questions arise on 
every side. Much of life is so repulsive and noxious — But 
there ! what a fog-bank I am leading you into this crystal May 
evening ! Most young girls would vote me an insufferable bore 
should I talk to them in this style.” 

“ So much the worse for the young girls then. I should think 
they would feel that no compliment could exceed that of being 
talked to as if they had brains. But I do not wish to put on 
learned airs. You know how ignorant I am of even the begin- 
nings of this knowledge. All that I can say is that I am not 
content to be ignorant. The curiosity of Mother Eve is grow- 
ing stronger every day ; and is it strange that it should turn 
towards the objects, so beautiful and yet so mysterious, that 
meet my eyes on every side ? ” 

“ No,” said he, musingly, “ the strange thing is that people 
have so little curiosity in regard to their surroundings. Why, 
multitudes of intelligent persons are almost as indifferent as the 
cattle that browse around among the trees and flowers. But I 
am a sorry one to preach. I once used to investigate things, 
but did not see them. I have thought about it very much this 



NA TURK 'S WORKSHOP. 2 3 1 

spring. It is said that great painters and sculptors study anatomy 
as well as outward form. Perhaps here is a good hint for those 
who are trying to appreciate nature. I am not so shallow as to 
imagine that I can ever understand nature any more than I can * 
you with your direct, honest gaze. So to. the thoughtful mystery 
is ever close at hand, but it seems no little thing to trace back 


BLOSSOM-TIME. 

what one sees as far as one can, and you have made me feel 
that it is a great thing to see the Divine Artist’s finished 
work.” 

They were now joined by others, and the perfect beauty of 
the evening as it slowly faded into night attracted much atten- 
tion from all the fanjily. The new moon hung in the afterglow 
of the western sky, and as the dusk deepened the weird notes 


232 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


of the whip-poor-will were heard for the first time from the 
mountain-sides. 

At the supper-table Leonard beamed on every one. “ A 
rain like this, after a week of sunshine has warmed the earth,” 
he exclaimed, “ is worth millions to the country. We can plant 
our corn next week.” 

“ Yes,” added his father, “ the old Indian sign, the unfolding 
of the oak leaves, indicates that it is now safe to plant. Next 
week will be a busy one. After long years of t observation, I 
am satisfied that the true secret of success in farming is the 
doing of everything at just the right time. Crops put in too 
early or too late often partially fail ; but if the right conditions 
are complied with from the beginning, they start with a vigor 
which is not lost until maturity.” 

Burt indulged in a gayety that was phenomenal even for him, 
but after supper he disappeared. Amy retired to her room 
early, but she sat a long time at her window and looked out 
into the warm, fragrant night. She had forgotten poor Burt, 
who was thinking of her, as in his unrest he rode mile after 
mile, holding his spirited horse down to a walk. She had 
almost forgotten Webb, but she thought deeply of his words, 
of the life that was working all around her so silently and yet 
so powerfully. Unseen it had created the beauty she had 
enjoyed that day. From the very contrast of ideas it made 
her think of death, of her father, who once had been so strong 
and full of life. The mystery of one seemed as great as that 
of the other, and a loneliness such as she had not felt before 
for months depressed her. “ I wish I could talk to Webb 
again,” she thought. “ He says he does not understand me. 
Little wonder ; I do not understand myself. It would seem 
that when one began to think nothing that appeared simple 
before is understood ; but his words are strong and assured. 
He leads one to the boundaries of the known, and then says, 
quietly, we can go no farther ; but he makes you feel that what 
is beyond is all right. Oh, I wish Burt was like him ! ” 


SPRING-TIME PASSION. 


233 


CHAPTER XXX. 

SPRING-TIME PASSION. 

B UT little chance had Amy to talk with Webb for the next 
few days. He had seen the cloud on Burt’s brow, and 
had observed that he was suspicious, unhappy, and irritable ; 
that reason and good sense were not in the ascendant ; and he 
understood his brother sufficiently well to believe that his attack 
must run its natural course, as like fevers had done before. 
From what he had seen he also thought that Amy could deal 
with Burt better than any one else, for although high-strung, he 
was also manly and generous when once he got his bearings. 
In his present mood he would bitterly resent interference from 
any one, but would be bound to obey Amy and to respect her 
wishes. Therefore he took especial pains to be most kindly, 
but also to appear busy and pre-occupied. 

It must not be thought that Burt was offensive or even openly 
obtrusive in his attentions. He was far too well-bred for that. 
There was nothing for which even his mother could reprove 
him, or of which Amy herself could complain. It was the suit 
itself from which she shrank, or rather which she would put 
off indefinitely. But Burt was not disposed to put anything 
that he craved into the distance. Spring-tide impulses were in 
his veins, and his heart was so overcharged that it must find 
expression. His opportunity came unexpectedly. A long, 
exquisite day had merged into a moonlight evening. The 
apple-blossoms were in all their white-and-pink glory, and filled 
the summer-like air with a fragrance as delicate as that of the 


234 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


arbutus. The petals of the cherry were floating down like 
snow in every passing breeze, glimmering momentarily in the 
pale radiance. The night was growing so beautiful that Amy 
was tempted to stroll out in the grounds, and soon she yielded 
to a fancy to see the effect of moonlight through an apple-tree 
that towered like a mound of snow at some little distance from 
the house. She would not have been human had the witchery 
of the May evening been without its influence. If Burt could 
have understood her, this was his opportunity. If he had come 
with step and tone that accorded with the quiet evening, and 
simply said, “ Amy, you know — you have seen that I love you ; 
what hope can you give me?” she in her present mood would 
have answered him as gently and frankly as a child. She might 
have laughingly pointed him to the tree, and said : “ See, it is 
in blossom now. It will be a long time before you pick the 
apples. You must wait. If you will be sensible, and treat me 
as you would Johnnie, were she older, I will ride and walk with 
you, and be as nice to you as I can.” 

But this Burt could not do and still remain Burt. He was 
like an overcharged cloud, and when he spoke at last his words 
seemed to the sensitive girl to have the vividness and abrupt- 
ness of the lightning. It was her custom to make a special 
toilet for the evening, and when she had come down to supper 
with a rose in her hair, and dressed in some light clinging 
fabric, she had proved so attractive to the young fellow that he 
felt that the limit of his restraint was reached. He would 
appeal to her so earnestly, so passionately, as to kindle her cold 
nature. In his lack of appreciation of Amy he had come to 
deem this his true course, and she unconsciously enabled him 
to carry out the rash plan. He had seen her stroll away, and 
had followed her until she should be so far from the house that 
she must listen. As she emerged from under the apple-tree, 
through which as a white cloud she had been looking at the 
moon, he appeared so suddenly as to startle her, and without 
any gentle re-assurance he seized her hand, and poured out 


SPRING-TIME PASSION 


235 


his feelings in a way that at first wounded and frightened 
her. 

“Burt,” she cried, “why do you speak to me so? Can’t 
you see that I do not feel as you do ? I’ve given you no reason 
to say such words to me.” 

“ Have you no heart, Amy ? Are you as cold and elusive as this 
moonlight? I have waited patiently, and now I must and will 
speak. Every man has a right to speak and a right to an answer.” 

“ Well then,” she replied, her spirit rising, “ if you will insist 
on my being a woman instead of a young girl just coming from 
the shadow of a great sorrow, I also have my rights. I’ve tried 
to show you gently and with all the tact I possessed that I did 
not want to think about such things. I’m just at the beginning 
of my girlhood and I want to be a young girl as long as I can 
and not an engaged young woman. No matter who spoke the 
words you have said, they would pain me. Why couldn’t you 
see this from my manner and save both yourself and me from 
this scene ? I’ll gladly be your loving sister, but you must not 
speak to me in this way again.” 

“You refuse me then,” he said, throwing back his head 
haughtily. 

“ Refuse you? No. I simply tell you that I won’t listen to 
such words from any one. Why can’t you be sensible and 
understand me? I no more wish to talk about such things than 
do Alf and Johnnie.” 

“I do understand you,” he exclaimed, passionately, “and 
better perhaps than you understand yourself. You are not a 
"child. You are a woman, but you seem to lack a woman’s 
heart, as far as I am concerned ; ” and with a gesture that was 
very tragic and despairing he strode away. 

She was deeply troubled and incensed also, and she returned 
to the house with drooping head and fast-falling tears. 

“Why, Amy, what is the matter?” Looking up, she saw 
Webb coming down the piazza steps. Yielding to her impulse, 
she sprang forward and took his arm, as she said : 


236 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“Webb, you have always acted towards me like a brother. 
Tell me true : am I cold ? am I heartless ? is it unnatural in 
me that I do not wish to hear such words as Burt would speak 
to-night? All I ask is that he will let me stay a happy young 
girl till I am ready for something else. This is no way for a 
flower to bloom ” — she snatched the rose from her hair, and 
pushed open the red petals — “and yet Burt expects me to 
respond at once to feelings that I do not even understand. If 
it’s best in the future — but surely I’ve a right to my freedom 
for a long time yet. Tell me, do you think I’m unnatural?” 

“ No, Amy,” he answered, gently. “ It is because you are so 
perfectly natural, so true to your girlhood, that you feel as you 
do. In that little parable of the rose you explain yourself 
fully. You have no cause for self-reproach, nor has Burt for 
complaint. Will you do what I ask? ” 

“ Yes, Webb. You say you do not understand me, and yet 
always prove that you do. If Burt would only treat me as you 
do, I should be perfectly happy.” 

“ Well, Burt’s good-hearted, but sometimes he mislays his 
judgment,” said Webb, laughing. “ Come, cheer up. There is 
no occasion for any high tragedy on his part or for grieving on 
yours. You go and tell mother all about it, and just how you 
feel. She is the right one to manage this affair, and her in- 
fluence over Burt is almost unbounded. Do this, and, take my 
word for it, all will soon be serene.” 

And so it proved. Amy felt that night what it is to have a 
mother’s boundless love and sympathy, and she went to her 
rest comforted, soothed, and more assured as to the future than 
she had been for a long time. “ How quiet and sensible Webb 
was about it all ! ” was her last smiling thought before she slept. 
His thought as he strolled away in the moonlight after she left 
him was, “ It is just as I half believed. She has the mind of a 
woman, but the heart of a child. How apt was her use of that 
rose ! It told all.” 

Burt did not stroll ; he strode mile after mile, and the un- 


SPRING-TIME PASSION. 


237 


comfortable feeling that he had been very unwise, to say the 
least, and perhaps very unjust, was growing upon him. When 
at last he returned, his mother called to him through the open 
door. Sooner or later, Mrs. Clifford always obtained the con- 
fidence of her children, and they ever found that it was sacred. 
All that can be said, therefor^, was, that he came from her pres- 
ence penitent, ashamed, and hopeful. His mood may best be 
explained, perhaps, by a note written before he retired. “ My 
dear sister Amy,” it ran, “ I wish to ask your pardon. I have 
been unjust and ungenerous. I was so blinded and engrossed 
by my own feelings that I did not understand you. I have 
proved myself unworthy of even a sister’s love ; but I will try 
to make amends. Do not judge me harshly because I was so 
headlong. There is no use in trying to disguise the truth. 
What I have said so unwisely and prematurely I cannot unsay, 
and I shall always be true to my words. But I will wait 
patiently as long as you please ; and if you find, in future years, 
that you cannot feel as I do, I will not complain or blame you, 
however sad the truth may be to me. In the meantime, let 
there be no constraint between us. Let me become once more 
your trusted brother Burt.” This note he pushed under her 
door, and then slept too soundly for the blighted youth he had 
a few hours before deemed himself. 

He felt a little embarrassed at the prospect of meeting her 
the next morning, but she broke the ice at once by coming to 
him on the piazza and extending her hand in smiling frankness 
as she said : “ You are neither unjust nor ungenerous, Burt, or 
you would not have written me such a note. I take you at 
your word. As you said the first evening I came, we shall have 
jolly times together.” 

The young fellow was immensely relieved and grateful, and 
he showed it. Soon afterwards he went about the affairs of the 
day happier than he had been for a long time. Indeed, it soon 
became evident that his explosion on the previous evening had 
cleared the air generally. Amy felt that the one threatening 


238 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


cloud had sunk below the horizon. As the days passed, and 
Burt proved that he could keep his promise, her thoughts grew 
as serene as those of Johnnie. Her household duties were not 
very many, and yet she did certain things regularly. The old 
people found that she rarely forgot them, and she had the grace 
to see when she could help and cheer. Attentions that must 
be constantly asked for have little charm. A day rarely passed 
that she did not give one or more of its best hours to her music 
and drawing ; for, while she never expected to excel in these 
arts, she had already learned that they would enable her to give 
much pleasure to others. Her pencil, also, was of great assist- 
ance in her study of out-door life, for the fixed attention which 
it required to draw a plant, tree, or bit of scenery revealed its 
characteristics. She had been even more interested in the 
unfolding of the leaf-buds than in the flowering of the trees, 
and the gradual advance of the foliage, like a tinted cloud, up 
the mountain-slopes, was something she never tired of watch- 
ing. When she spoke of this one day to Webb, he replied : 

“ I have often wondered that more is not said and written 
about our spring foliage, before it passes into its general hue of 
green. To me it has a more delicate beauty and charm than 
anything seen in October. Different trees have their distinct 
coloring now as then, but it is evanescent, and the shades 
usually are less clearly marked. This very fact, however, 
teaches the eye to have a nicety of distinction that is pleasing.” 

The busy days passed quickly on. The blossoms faded from 
the trees, and the miniature fruit was soon apparent. The 
strawberry rows, that had been like lines of snow, were now 
full of little promising cones. The grass grew so lusty and 
strong that the dandelions were hidden except as the breeze 
caught up the winged seeds that the tuneful yellow-birds often 
seized in the air. The rye had almost reached its height, and 
Johnnie said it was “ as good as going to the ocean to see it 
wave.” At last the swelling buds on the rose-bushes proclaimed 
the advent of June. 


JUNE AND HONEY-BEES. 


239 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

JUNE AND HONEY-BEES. 

I T is said that there is no heaven anywhere for those incapable 
of recognizing and enjoying it. Be this as it may, the 
month of June is a segment of heaven annually bestowed on 
those whose eyes and ears have been opened to beauty in sight 
and sound. Indeed, what sense in man is not gratified to the 
point of imaginary perfection during this early fruition of the 
varied promise of spring? Even to the sense of touch, how 
exquisite is the “feel” of the fragrant rose-petals, the soft 
young foliage that has transformed the world, and the queer 
downy fledglings in innumerable nests ! To the eye informed 
by a heart in love with nature the longest days of the year are 
all too short to note half that exists and takes , place. Who 
sees and distinguishes the varied blossoming of the many kinds 
of grain and grasses that are waving in every field ? And yet 
here is a beauty as distinct and delicate as can be found in 
some of Mendelssohn’s “Songs without Words” — blossomings 
so odd, delicate, and evanescent as to suggest a child’s dream 
of a flower. Place them under a strong glass, and who can fail 
to wonder at the miracles of form and color that are revealed ? 
From these tiny flowerets the scale runs upward until it touches 
the hybrid rose. During this period, also, many of the forest 
trees emulate the wild flowers at their feet until their inflores- 
cence culminates in the white cord-like fringe that foretells the 
spiny chestnut burrs. 

So much has been written comparing this exquisite season 


240 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


when spring passes insensibly into summer with the fulfilled 
prophecy of girlhood, that no attempt shall be made to repeat 
the simile. Amy’s birthday should have been in May, but it 
came early in June. May was still in her heart, and might lin- 
ger there indefinitely ; but her mind, her thoughts, kept pace 
with nature as unconsciously as the flowers that bloomed in 
their season. There were little remembrances from all the 
family, but Webb’s gift promised the most pleasure. It was a 
powerful opera-glass ; and as he handed it to her on the piazza 
in the early morning he said : 

“ Our troupe are all here now, Amy, and I thought that you 
would like to see the singers, and observe their costumes and 
expressions. Some birds have a good deal of expression and a 
very charming manner while singing — a manner much more to 
my taste than that of many a prima donna whom I have heard, 
although my taste may be uncultivated. Focus your glass on 
that indigo-bird in yonder tree-top. Don’t you see him? — 
the one that is favoring us with such a lively strain, beginning 
with a repetition of short, sprightly notes. The glass may 
enable you to see his markings accurately.” 

“ Oh, what an exquisite glossy blue ! and it grows so deep 
and rich about the head, throat, and breast ! How plain I can 
see him, even to the black velvet under his eyes ! There is 
brown on his wings, too. Why, I can look right into his little 
throat, and almost imagine I see the notes he is flinging abroad 
so vivaciously. I can even make out his claws closed on a twig, 
and the dew on the leaves around him is like gems. Truly, 
Webb, you were inspired when you thought of this gift.” 

“ Yes,” he replied, quietly, looking much pleased, however, 
“with a very honest wish to add to your enjoyment of the 
summer. I must confess, too, that I had one thought at least 
for myself. You have described the indigo-bird far more ac- 
curately than I could have done, although I have seen it every 
summer as long as I can remember. You have taught me to 
see ; why should I not help you to see more when I can do it 


JUNE AND HONEY-BEES. 


241 


so easily? My thought was that you would lend me the glass 
occasionally, so that I might try to keep pace with you. I’ve 
been using the microscope too much — prying into nature, as 
Burt would say, with the spirit of an anatomist.” 

“ I shall value the glass a great deal more if you share it with 
me,” she said, simply, with a sincere, direct gaze into his eyes ; 
“and be assured, Webb,” she added, earnestly, “you are help- 
ing me more than I can help you. I’m not an artist, and never 
can be, but if I were I should want something more than mere 
surface, however beautiful it might be. Think of it, Webb, I’m 
eighteen to-day, and I know so little ! You always make me 
feel that there is so much to learn, and, what is more, that it is 
worth knowing. You should have been a teacher, for you would 
make the children feel, when learning their lessons, as Alf does 
when after game. How well nature bears close scrutiny ! ” she 
added, sweeping the scene with her glass. “ I can go every 
day now on an exploring expedition. But there is the break- 
fast-bell.” 

Mr. Clifford came in a little late, rubbing his hands felici- 
tously, as he said : 

“ I have just come from the apiary, and think we shall have 
another swarm to-day. Did you ever hear the old saying, Amy, 

‘A swarm of bees in June 
Is worth a silver spoon ’ ? 

If one comes out to-day, and we hive it safely, we shall call it 
yours, and you shall have the honey.” 

“ How much you are all doing to sweeten my life ! ” she said, 
laughing; “but I never expected the present of a swarm of 
bees. I assure you it is a gift that you will have to keep for 
me, and yet I should like to see how the bees swarm, and how 
you hive them. Would it be safe? I’ve heard that bees are 
so wise, and know when people are afraid of them.” 

“You can fix yourself up with a thick veil and a pair of 
gloves so that there will be no danger, and your swarm of bees, 


24 2 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


when once in the hive, will take care of themselves, and help 
take care of you. That’s the beauty of bee-culture.” 

“ Our bees are literally in clover this year,” Leonard re- 
marked. “ That heavy coating of wood-ashes that I gave to a 
half- acre near the apiary proved most effective, and the plot 
now looks as if a flurry of snow had passed over it, the white 
clover blossoms are so thick. That is something I could never 
understand, Webb. Wood-ashes will always bring white clover. 
It’s hard to believe that it all comes from seed dormant in the 
ground.” 

“Well, it does,” was the reply. 

“ A great many think that the ashes simply produce condi- 
tions in the soil which generate the clover.” 

“ Out of nothing? That would not be simple at all, and if 
any one could prove it he would make a sensation in the scien- 
tific world.” 

“ Now, Len, here’s your chance,” laughed Burt. “ Just ima- 
gine what a halo of glory you would get by setting the scientific 
world agape with wonder ! ” 

“ I could make the scientific world gape in a much easier 
way,” Leonard replied, dryly. “ Well, Amy, if you are as fond 
of honey as I am, you will think a swarm of bees a very nice 
present. Fancy buckwheat cakes eaten with honey made from 
buckwheat blossoms ! There’s a conjunction that gives to 
winter an unflagging charm. If the old Hebrews felt as I do, a 
land flowing with milk and honey must have been very allur- 
ing. Such a land the valley of the Hudson certainly is. It’s 
one of the finest grass regions of the world, and grass means 
milk ; and the extensive raspberry fields along its banks mean 
honey. White clover is all very well, but I’ve noticed that 
when the raspberry-bushes are in bloom they are alive with bees. 
I believe even the locust-trees would be deserted for these in- 
significant little blossoms that, like many plain people, are well 
worth close acquaintance.” 

“The linden-tree, which also blooms this month/’ added 


JUNE AND HONEY-BEES. 


243 


Webb, “ furnishes the richest harvest for the honey-bees, and I 
don’t believe they would leave its blossoms for any others. 
I wish there were more lindens in this region, for they are as 
ornamental as they are useful. I’ve read that they are largely 
cultivated in Russia for the sake of the bees. The honey made 
from the linden or bass-wood blossoms is said to be crystal in 
its transparency, and unsurpassed in delicacy of flavor.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Clifford, “ I shall look after the apiary to- 
day. That’s good lazy work for an old man. You can help me 
watch at a safe distance, Amy, and protected, as I said, if they 
swarm. It wouldn’t be well for you to go too near the hives at 
first, you know,” he added, in laughing gallantry, “ for they 
might mistake you for a flower. They are so well acquainted 
with me that I raise neither expectations nor fears. You needn’t 
come out before ten o’clock, for they don’t swarm until to- 
wards midday.” 

With shy steps, and well protected, Amy approached the 
apiary, near which the old gentleman was sitting in placid fear- 
lessness under the shade of a maple, the honey of whose spring 
blossoms was already in the hive. For a time she kept at a 
most respectful distance, but, as the bees did not notice her, 
she at last drew nearer, and removed her veil, and with the aid 
of her glass saw the indefatigable workers coming in and going 
out with such celerity that they seemed to be assuring each 
other that there were tons of honey now to be had for the gath- 
ering. The bees grew into large insects under her powerful 
lenses, and their forms and movements were very distinct. 
Suddenly from the entrance of one hive near Mr. Clifford, 
which she happened to be covering with her glass, she saw pour- 
ing out a perfect torrent of bees. She started back in affright, 
but Mr. Clifford told her to stand still, and she noted that he 
quietly kept his seat, while following through his gold-rimmed 
spectacles the swirling, swaying stream that rushed into the 
upper air. The combined hum smote the ear with its intensity. 
Each bee was describing circles with almost the swiftness of 


244 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


light, and there were such numbers that they formed a nebu- 
lous living mass. Involuntarily she crouched down in the grass. 
In a few moments, however, she saw the swarm draw together 
and cluster like a great black ball on a bough of a small pear- 
tree. The queen had alighted, and all her subjects gathered 
around her. 

“ Ah,” chuckled the old gentleman, rising quietly, “ they 
couldn’t have been more sensible if they had been human — 
not half so sensible in that case, perhaps. I think you will 
have your swarm now without doubt. That’s the beauty of 
these Italian bees when they are kept pure : they are so quiet 
and sensible. Come away now, until I return prepared to hive 
them.” 

The young girl obeyed with alacrity, and was almost trem- 
bling with excitement, to which fear as well as the novelty of 
the scene contributed not a little. Mr. Clifford soon returned, 
well protected and prepared for his work. Taking an empty 
hive, he placed it on the ground in a secluded spot, and laid 
before its entrances a broad, smooth board. Then he mounted 
a step-ladder, holding in his left hand a large tin pan, and 
gently brushed the bees into it as if they had been inanimate 
things. A sheet had first been spread beneath the pear-tree to 
catch those that did not fall into the pan. Touched thus 
gently and carefully, the immense vitality of the swarm remained 
dormant ; but a rough, sudden movement would have trans- 
formed it instantly into a vengeful cloud of insects, each ani- 
mated by the one impulse to use its stiletto. Coming down 
from the ladder, he turned the pan towards Amy, and with her 
glass she saw that it was nearly half full of a crawling, seething 
mass that fairly made her shudder. But much experience ren- 
dered the old gentleman confident, and he only smiled as he 
carried the pan of bees to the empty hive, and poured them 
out on the board before it. The sheet was next gathered up 
and placed near the hive also, and then the old gentleman 
backed slowly and quietly away until he had joined Amy, to 


JUNE AND HONEY-BEES. 


245 


whom he said, “ My part of the work is now done, and I think 
we shall soon see them enter the hive.” He was right, for 
within twenty minutes every bee had disappeared within the 
new domicile. “ To-night I will place the hive on the platform 
with the others, and to-morrow your bees will be at work for 
you, Amy. I don’t wonder you are so interested, for of all in- 
sects I think bees take the palm. It is possible that the swarm 
will not fancy their new quarters, and will come out again, but 
it is not probable. Screened by this bush, you can watch in 
perfect safety ; ” and he left her well content, with her glass 
fixed on the apiary. 

Having satisfied herself for the time with observing the work- 
ers coming and going, she went around to the white clover-field 
to see the process of gathering the honey. She had long since 
learned that bees while at work are harmless, unless so cornered 
that they sting in self-defence. Sitting on a rock at the edge 
of the clover-field, she listened to the drowsy monotone of in- 
numerable wings. Then she bent her glass on a clover head, 
and it grew at once into a collection of little white tubes or jars 
in which from earth, air, and dew nature distilled the nectar 
that the bees were gathering. The intent workers stood on 
their heads and emptied these fragrant honey-jars with marvel- 
lous quickness. They knew when they were loaded, and in 
straight lines as geometrically true as the hexagon cells in which 
the honey would be stored they darted to their hives. When 
the day grew warm she returned to the house and read, with a 
wonder and delight which no fairy tale had ever produced, 
John Burroughs’s paper, “The Pastoral Bees,” which Webb had 
found for her before going to his work. To her childish cre- 
dulity fairy lore had been more interesting than wonderful, but 
the instincts and habits of these children of nature touched on 
mysteries that can never be solved. 

At dinner the experiences of the apiary were discussed, and 
Leonard asked, “ Do you think the old-fashioned custom of 
beating tin pans and blowing horns influences a swarm to 


246 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


alight? The custom is still maintained by some people in the 
vicinity.” 

“ I doubt it,” said Webb. “ It is no longer practised by sci- 
entific bee-keepers, and yet it is founded on the principle that 
anything which disconcerts the bees may change their plans. 
It is said that water or dry earth thrown into a whirling swarm 
will sometimes cause it to alight or return to the hive.” 

“ Your speaking of blowing horns,” said Mr. Clifford, laugh- 
ing, “recalls a hiving experience that occurred seventy years 
ago. I was a boy then, but was so punctured with stings on a 
June day like this that a vivid impression was made on my 
memory. We were expecting swarms every day. A neighbor, 
a quaint old man who lived very near, had gained the reputa- 
tion of an expert at this business. I can see him now, with his 
high stove-pipe hat, and his gnarled, wrinkled visage, which he 
shrouded in a green veil when hiving a swarm. He was a good- 
hearted old fellow, but very rough in his talk. He had been to 
sea in early life, and profanity had become the characteristic 
of his vernacular. Well, word came one morning that the bees 
were swarming, and a minute later I aroused the old man, who 
was smoking and dozing on his porch. I don’t believe you 
ever ran faster, Alf, than I did then. Hiving bees was the old 
fellow’s hobby and pride, and he dived into his cottage, smash- 
ing his clay pipe on the way, with the haste of an attacked sol- 
dier seizing his weapons. In a moment he was out with all his 
paraphernalia. To me was given a fish-hom of portentous 
size and sound. The ‘ skips,’ which were the old-fashioned 
straw hives that the bears so often emptied for our forefathers, 
stood in a large door-yard, over which the swarm was circling. 
As we • arrived on the scene the women were coming from the 
house with tin pans, and nearly all the family were out-of-doors. 
It so happened that an old white horse was grazing in the yard, 
and at this critical moment was near the end of the bench on 
which stood the hives. Coming up behind him, I thoughtlessly 
let off a terrific blast from my horn, at which he, terrified, kicked 



WATCHING THE SWARM 





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247 


june And honey-bees. 

viciously. Over went a straw skip, and in a moment we had 
another swarm of bees on hand that we had not bargained for. 
Dropping my horn, I covered my face with my arm, and ran 
for life to the house, but I must have been stung twenty times 
before I escaped. The bees seemed everywhere, and as mad 
as hornets. Although half wild with pain, I had to laugh as I 
saw the old man frantically trying to adjust his veil, meanwhile 
almost dancing in his anguish. In half a minute he succumbed, 
and tore into a wood-shed. Everybody went to cover in- 
stantly except the white horse, and he had nowhere to go, but 
galloped around the yard as if possessed. This only made mat- 
ters worse, for innocent as he was, the bees justly regarded 
him as the cause of all the trouble. At last, in his uncontrollable 
agony, he floundered over a stone wall, and disappeared. For 
an hour or two it was almost as much as one’s life was worth to 
venture out. The old man, shrouded and mittened, at last 
crept off homeward to nurse his wounds and his wrath, and he 
made the air fairly sulphurous around him with his oaths. 
But that kind of sulphuric treatment did not affect the bees, 
for I observed from a window that at one point nearest the 
skips he began to run, and he kept up a lively pace until within 
his door. What became of the swarm we expected to hive I 
do not know. Probably it went to the woods. That night we 
destroyed the irate swarm whose skip had been kicked over, 
and peace was restored.” 

“ If you had told that story at the breakfast-table,” said Amy, 
as soon as the laugh caused by the old gentleman’s account had 
subsided, “ you could never have induced me to be present this 
morning, even at such a respectful distance.” 

“An old man who lives not far from us has wonderful suc- 
cess with bees,” Leonard remarked. “ He has over fifty hives 
in a space not more than twenty feet square, and I do not think 
there is a tenth of an acre in his whole lot, which is in the cen- 
tre of a village. To this bare little plot his bees bring honey 
from every side, so that for his purpose he practically owns this 


248 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


entire region. He potters around them so much that, as far as 
he is concerned, they are as docile as barn-door fowls, and he 
says he minds a sting no more than a mosquito bite. There 
are half a dozen small trees and bushes in his little yard, and 
his bees are so accommodating that they rarely swarm else- 
where than on these low trees within a few feet of the skips. 
He also places mullein stalks on a pole, and the swarms often 
cluster on them. He told me that on one day last summer he 
had ten swarms to look after, and that he hived them all ; and 
he says that his wife is as good at the work as he is. On a 
pole which forms the corner of a little poultry-coop he keeps 
the record of the swarms of each season, and for last summer 
there are sixty-one notches. A year ago this month four 
swarms went into a barrel that stood in a corner of his yard, 
and he left them there. By fall they had filled the barrel with 
honey, and then, in his vernacular, he ‘ tuck it up ; ’ that is, he 
killed the bees, and removed all the honey.” 

“ That is the regular bee-phrase in this region. If a hive is 
to be emptied and the bees destroyed, or a bee tree to be cut 
down, the act is described as ‘ taking up ’ the hive or tree,” 
Burt explained. “ By the way, Amy,” he added, “ we must 
give you a little bee-hunting experience in the mountains next 
October. It would make a jolly excursion. We can leave you 
with a guard at some high point, when we strike a bee-line, and 
we might not be long in finding the tree.” 

“We’ll put the expedition right down on the fall pro- 
gramme,” she said, smilingly. Then turning to Mr. Clifford, 
she continued : “ You spoke in praise of Italian bees. What 
kind are they? and how many kinds are there?” 

“ Really only two distinct kinds — our native brownish-black 
bees, and the Italians imported by Mr. S. B. Parsons and others 
about fifteen years ago. There is a cross or hybrid between 
these two kinds that are said to be so ill-natured that it is un- 
safe to go anywhere near their hives.” 


JUNE AND HONEY-BEES. 


249 

“Burt,” said Webb, “you must remember reading in Virgil 
of the ‘ golden bees.’ ” 

“ Yes, indistinctly ; but none of them ever got in my bonnet 
or made much impression. I don’t like bees, nor do they like 
me. They respect only the deliberation of profound gravity 
and wisdom. Father has these qualities by the right of years, 
and Webb by nature, and their very presence soothes the iras- 
cible insects ; but when I go among them they fairly bristle with 
stings. Give me a horse, and the more spirited the better.” 

“ Oh no, Burt ; can’t give you any,” said Leonard, with his 
humorous twinkle. “ I’ll sell you one, though, cheap.” 

“ Yes, that vicious, uncouth brute that you bought because so 
cheap. I told you that you were ‘ sold ’ at the same time with 
the horse.” 

“ I admit it,” was the rueful reply. “ If he ever balks again 
as he did to-day, I shall be tempted to shoot him.” 

“ Oh dear ! ” said Amy, a little petulantly, “ I’d rather hear 
about Italian bees than balky horses. Has my swarm of bees 
any connection with those that Virgil wrote about, Webb?” 

“ They may be direct descendants,” he replied. 

“Then call them May-bees,” laughed Burt. 

“ The kind of bees that Virgil wrote about were undoubtedly 
their ancestors,” resumed Webb, smiling at Burt’s sally, “ for 
bees seem to change but little, if any, in their traits and habits. 
Centuries of domestication do not make them domestic, and 
your swarm, if not hived, would have gone to the mountains 
and lived in a hollow tree. I have a book that will give you 
the history and characteristics of the Italians, if you would like 
to read about them.” 

“ I certainly should. My mind is on bees now, and I intend 
to follow them up until I get stung probably. Well, I’ve en- 
joyed more honey this morning, although I’ve not tasted any, 
than in all my life. You see how useful I make the opera-glass, 
Webb. With it I can even gather honey that does not cloy.” 


250 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

BURT BECOMES RATIONAL. 

B URT had expended more on his present for Amy than had 
any of the family, and, while it had been acknowledged 
most cordially, he was a little disappointed that his choice had 
not been so happy as Webb’s. Therefore after dinner he said : 
“ I feel almost envious. I wish I could give you a great deal of 
pleasure also to-day. How would you like to go in a row-boat 
to Constitution Island, and make that visit to Miss Warner of 
which we spoke last winter? It’s warm, but not sultry, and we 
would keep in the shadow of the mountains most of the- way 
down.” 

She hesitated a moment. 

“ Don’t be afraid, Amy,” he said, in a low tone. 

“ I’ll go with you,” she assented, cordially, “ and I cannot 
think of anything that would make my birthday more complete.” 

“ I’ll be ready in an hour,” he said, flushing with pleasure, 
and he went up to his room two steps at a time. 

Burt’s mental processes during the past few weeks had been 
characteristic, and would have amused Amy had she been fully 
aware of them. As Webb surmised, his fever had to run its 
course, but after its crisis had passed he rapidly grew rational. 
Moreover, in his mother, and indeed in Amy herself, he had the 
best of physicians. At first he was very penitent, and not a 
little chagrined at his course. As days went by, however, and 
it was not referred to by word or sign on the part of the 
family, his nervous apprehension passed away. He thought he 
detected a peculiar twinkle in Leonard’s eyes occasionally, but 


BURT BECOMES RATIONAL. 


251 


it might have resulted from other causes. Still Amy did the 
most to re-assure him both consciously and unconsciously* As 
she said, she took him at his word, and being unembarrassed 
by any feeling of her own, found it easy to act like a sister to- 
wards him. This naturally put him at his ease. In her floral 
expeditions with Johnnie, however, and her bird-nestings with 
Alf, wherein no birds were robbed, she unconsciously did more 
to reconcile him to the necessity of waiting than could hours 
of argument from even his mother. She thus proved to him 
that he had spoken much too soon — r that she was not ready 
for his ill-chosen, passionate words, which had wounded instead 
of firing her heart as he intended they should. He now be- 
rated his stupidity, but consoled himself with the thought that 
love is always a little blind. He saw that she liked Webb ex- 
ceedingly, and enjoyed talking with him, but he now was no 
longer disposed to be jealous. She ever seemed to be asking 
questions like an intelligent child. “Why shouldn’t she like 
Webb?” he thought. “He is one of the best fellows in the 
world, and she has found out that he’s a walking encyclopaedia 
of out-door lore.” 

Burt was not one to be depressed or to remain in the valley 
of humiliation very long. After a week or two a slight feeling 
of superiority began to assert itself. Amy was not only too 
young to understand him, but also, perhaps, to appreciate him. 
He believed that he knew more than one pretty girl to whom 
he would not have spoken in vain. Some day the scales would 
fall from Amy’s eyes. He could well afford to wait until they 
did, and he threw back his handsome head at the thought, and 
an exultant flash came into his blue eyes. Oh, he would be 
faithful, he would be magnanimous, and he also admitted to 
himself that he would be very glad and grateful ; but he would 
be very patient, perhaps a little too much so to suit her. Since 
he had been told to “ wait,” he would wait until her awakening 
heart constrained her to give unequi.YQcal signs of readiness to 
surrender. 


252 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Thus his thoughts ran on while he was busy about the farm, 
or galloping over the country on business or pleasure. After 
the corn-planting and the rush of work in May was over, he 
had given himself a week’s outing among the trout streams of 
Ulster County, and had returned with his equanimity quite re- 
stored. To assure Amy of this, and that she had nothing more 
to fear, but everything to gain, was one of his motives in ask- 
ing her to take the long sail that afternoon. He succeeded so 
well that a smile of very genuine satisfaction hovered about her 
lips more than once. She enjoyed the expedition exceedingly. 
She was. grateful for the kind reception given her by the 
authors who had done much to sweeten and purify the world’s 
thought. She was charmed with the superb scenery as on their 
return they glided along in the shadows of Cro* Nest, whose 
sides seemed lined with a choir of wood and veery thrushes 
and other wild songsters. At last they evoked the spirit of 
music in her. She took an oar with Burt, and they pulled, sang, 
and laughed together like careless, happy children. Yet more 
than once she shyly glanced at him, and queried, Could his 
flushed and mirthful face be that of the passionate lover and 
blighted youth of scarce a month since ? Burt said something 
droll, and her laugh raised a musical echo against the steep 
rocks near. His wit was not its cause, but her own thought : 
“ My plea was that I was too young ; he’s very young, 
too.” 

As they neared the point of Storm King the evening boat, 
the Mary Powell ’ swept towards them with scarcely more ap- 
parent effort than that of a swan. A few moments later their 
skiff was dancing over the swells, Amy waving her handkerchief, 
and the good-natured pilot awakening a hundred echoes by his 
steam-whistle of responsive courtesy. 

They were at home in time for supper, and here another 
delicious surprise awaited Amy. Johnnie and Alf felt that 
they should do something in honor of the day. From a 
sunny hillside they had gleaned a gill of wild strawberries, and 


BURT BECOMES RATIONAL . 


253 


Webb had found that the heat of the day had so far developed 
half a dozen Jacqueminot rosebuds that they were ready for 
gathering. These with their fragrance and beauty were beside 
her plate in dainty arrangement. They seemed to give the 
complete and final touch to the day already replete with joy 
and kindness, and happy, grateful tears rushed into the young 
girl’s eyes. Dashing them brusquely away, she said : “ I can’t 
tell you all what I feel, and I won’t try. I want you to know, 
however,” she added, smilingly, while her lips quivered, “ that 
I am very much at home.” 

Burt was in exuberant spirits, for Amy had told him that she 
had enjoyed every moment of the afternoon. This had been 
most evident, and the young fellow congratulated himself. He 
could keep his word, he could be so jolly a companion as to 
leave nothing to be desired, and waiting, after all, would not be 
a martyrdom. His mood unloosed his tongue and made him 
eloquent as he described his experiences in trout-fishing. His 
words were so simple and vivid that he made his listeners hear 
the cool splash and see the foam of the mountain brooks. They 
saw the shimmer of the speckled beauties as they leaped for 
the fly, and felt the tingle of the rod as the line suddenly tight- 
ened, and heard the hum of the reel as the fish darted away in 
imagined safety. Burt saw his vantage — was not Amy listening 
with intent eyes and glowing cheeks ? — and he kept the little 
group in suspense almost as long as it had taken him to play, 
land, and kill a three-pound trout, the chief trophy of his ex- 
cursion. 

Webb was unusually silent, and was conscious of a depression 
for which he could not account. All was turning out better 
than he had predicted. The relations between Burt and Amy 
were not only “ serene,” but were apparently becoming de- 
cidedly blissful. The young girl was enthusiastic over her en- 
joyment of the afternoon ; there were no more delicately veiled 
defensive tactics against Burt, and now her face was full of frank 
admiration of his skill as an angler and of interest in the wild 


254 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


scenes described. Burt had spent more time in society thafi 
over his books while at college, and was a fluent, easy talker. 
Webb felt that he suffered in contrast, that he was grave, heavy, 
dull, and old — no fit companion for the girl whose laughing 
eyes so often rested on his brother’s face and responded to his 
mirth. Perhaps Burt would not have long to wait ; perhaps 
his rash, passionate words had already given to Amy’s girlish 
unconsciousness the shock that had destroyed it, and she was 
learning that she was a woman who could return love for love. 
Well, granting this, was it not just what they were all expecting? 
“ But the change is coming too soon,” he complained to him- 
self. “ I wish she could keep her gentle, lovable, yet unap- 
proachable May-day grace a little longer. Then she was like 
the wind-flower, which the eyes can linger upon, but which fades 
almost the moment it is grasped. It made her so different from 
other girls of her age. It identified her with the elusive spirit 
of nature, whose beauty entrances one, but search and wander 
where we will, nothing can be found that is distinctly and tangi- 
bly ours or any one’s. Amy, belonging definitely to any one, 
would lose half her charm.” 

Webb saw and heard all that passed, but in a minor key 
thoughts like these were forming themselves, with little volition 
on his part, and were symptoms which as yet he did not under- 
stand. In ah interval of mirth, Johnnie heard footsteps on the 
piazza, and darting out, caught a glimpse of Mr. Alvord’s re- 
treating form. He had come on some errand, and, seeing the 
group at the supper-table, had yielded to the impulse to depart 
unrecognized. This the little girl would by no means permit. 
Since Easter an odd friendship had sprung up between her and 
the lonely man, and she had become almost his sole visitor. 
She now called after him, and in a moment was at his side. 
“ Why are you going away? ” she said. “ You must not go till 
I show you my garden.” 

Maggie joined them, for he deeply enlisted her sympathy, 
and she wished to make it clear by her manner that the tie 


BURT BECOMES RATIONAL. 


255 


between him and the child had her approval. “ Yes, indeed, 
Mr. Alvord,” she said, “you must let Johnnie show you her 
garden, and especially her pansies.” 

“ Heart’s-ease is another name for the flower, I believe,” he 
replied, with the glimmer of a' smile. “ In that case Johnnie 
should be called Pansy. I thank you, Mrs. Clifford, that you 
are willing to trust your child to a stranger. We had a lovely 
ramble the other day, and she said that you told her she might 
go with me.” 

“ I’m only too glad that you find Johnnie an agreeable little 
neighbor,” Maggie began. “ Indeed, we all feel so neighborly 
that we hope you will soon cease to think of yourself as a 
stranger.” But here impatient Johnnie dragged him off to see 
her garden, and his close and appreciative attention to all she 
said and showed to him won the child’s heart anew. Amy soon 
joined them, and said : 

“ Mr. Alvord, I wish your congratulations, also. I’m eighteen 
to-day.” 

He turned, and looked at her so wistfully for a moment that 
her eyes fell. “ I do congratulate you,” he said, in a low, deep 
voice. “ If I had my choice between all the world and your 
age, I’d rather be eighteen again. May your brow always be 
as serene as it is to-night, Miss Amy.” His eyes passed swiftly 
from the elder to the younger girl, the one almost as young at 
heart and fully as innocent as the other, and then he spoke 
abruptly: “Good-by, Johnnie. I wish to see your father a 
moment on some business ; ” and he walked rapidly away. By 
the time they reached the house he had gone. Amy felt that 
with the night a darker shadow had fallen upon her happy day. 
The deep sadness of a wounded spirit touched her own, she 
scarcely knew why. It was byt the law of her unwarped, un- 
selfish nature. Even as a happy girl she could not pass by 
uncaring, on the other side. She felt that she would like to 
talk with Webb, as she always did when anything troubled her ; 
but he, touched with something of Burt’s old restlessness, had 


256 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


rambled away in the moonlight, notwithstanding the fatigues of 
the day. Therefore she went to the piano and sang for the old 
people some of the quaint so#gs of which she knew they were 
fond. Burt sat smoking and listening on the piazza in im- 
measurable content. 


WEBB'S ROSES AND ROMANCE. 


257 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 
webb’s roses and romance. 

T O Mrs. Clifford the month of June brought the halcyon 
days of the year. The warm sunshine revived her, the 
sub-acid of the strawberry seemed to furnish the very tonic she 
needed, and the beauty that abounded on every side, and that 
was daily brought to her couch, conferred a happiness that few 
could understand. Long years of weakness, in which only her 
mind could be active, had developed in the invalid a refinement 
scarcely possible to those who must daily meet the practical 
questions of life, and whose more robust natures could enjoy the 
material side of existence. It was not strange, therefore, that 
country life had matured her native love of flowers into almost 
a passion, which culminated in her intense enjoyment of the 
rose in all its varieties. The family, aware of this marked pref- 
erence, rarely left her without these flowers at any season ; but 
in June her eyes feasted on their varied forms and colors, and 
she distinguished between her favorites with all the zest and ac- 
curacy which a connoisseur of wines ever brought to bear upon 
their delicate bouquet. With eyes shut she could name from its 
perfume almost any rose with which she was familiar. There- 
fore, in all the flower-beds and borders roses abounded, espe- 
cially the old-fashioned kinds, which are again finding a place in 
florists’ catalogues. Originally led by love for his mother, 
Webb, years since, had begun to give attention to the queen of 
flowers. He soon found, however, that the words of an English 
writer are true, “ He who would have beautiful roses in his 


258 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


garden must have them first in his heart,” and there, with queenly 
power, they soon enthroned themselves. In one corner of the 
garden, which was protected on the north and west by a high 
stone wall, where the soil was warm, loamy, and well drained, 
he made a little rose garden. He bought treatises on the 
flower, and when he heard of or saw a variety that was particu- 
larly fine he added it to his collection. “ Webb is marked with 
my love of roses,” his mother often said, with her low, pleased 
laugh. Amy had observed that even in busiest times he often 
visited his rose garden as if it contained pets that were never 
forgotten. He once laughingly remarked that he “ gave recep- 
tions there only by special invitation,” and so she had never 
seen the spot except from a distance. 

On the third morning after her birthday Amy came down 
very early. The bird symphony had penetrated her open win- 
dows with such a jubilant resonance that she had been awakened 
almost with the dawn. The air was so cool and exhilarating, 
and there was such a wealth of dewy beauty on every side, 
that she yielded to the impulse to go out and enjoy the most 
delightful hour of the day. To her surprise, she saw Webb 
going down the path leading to the garden. “ What’s on your 
conscience,” she cried, “ that you can’t sleep?” 

“What’s on yours?” he retorted. 

“The shame of leaving so many mornings like this unseen 
and not enjoyed. I mean to repent and mend my ways frorr 
this time forth ; that is, if I wake up. May I go with you? ” 

“ What a droll question ! ” he replied, in laughing invitation. 

“ Well, I did not know,” she said, joining him, “ but that 
you were going to visit that sanctum sanctorum of yours.” 

“ I am. Your virtue of early rising is about to be rewarded. 
You know when some great personage is to be specially hon- 
ored, he is given the freedom of a city or library, etc. I shall 
now give you the freedom of my rose garden for the rest of 
the summer, and from this time till frost you can always find 
roses for your belt. I meant to do this on your birthday, 


WEBB'S ROSES AND ROMANCE . 259 

but the buds were not sufficiently forward this backward 
season.” 

“ I’m not a great personage.” 

“ No, thanks, you’re not. You are only our Amy.” 

“ I’m content. Oh, Webb, what miracles have you been 
working here?” she exclaimed, as she passed through some 
screening shrubbery, and looked upon a plot given up wholly 
to roses, many of which were open, more in the phase of ex- 
quisite buds, while the majority were still closely wrapped in 
their green calyxes. 

“ No miracle at all. I’ve only assisted nature a little. At 
the same time, let me assure you that this small place is like a 
picture-gallery, and that there is a chance here for as nice dis- 
crimination as there would be in a cabinet full of works of art. 
There are few duplicate roses in this place, and I have been 
years in selecting and winnowing this collection. They are all 
named varieties, labelled in my mind. I love them too well, 
and am too familiar with them, to hang disfiguring bits of wood 
upon them. One might as well label his friends. Each one 
has been chosen and kept because of some individual point of 
excellence, and you can gradually learn to recognize these char- 
acteristics just as mother does. This plot here is filled with 
hardy hybrid perpetuals, and that with tender tea-roses, requir- 
ing very different treatment. Here is a moss that will bloom 
again in the autumn. It has a sounding name — Soupert-et- 
notting — but it is worthy of any name. Though not so mossy 
as some others, look at its fine form and beautiful rose-color. 
Only one or two are out yet, but in a week this bush will be a 
thing of beauty that one would certainly wish might last for- 
ever. Try its fragrance. Nothing surpasses it unless it is La 
France , over there.” 

She inhaled the exquisite perfume in long breaths, and then 
looked around at the budding beauty on every side, even to the 
stone walls that were covered with climbing varieties. At last 
she turned to him with eyes that were dilated as much with 


260 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


wonder as with pleasure, and said : “ Well, this is a surprise. 
How in the world have you found time to bring all this about ? 
I never saw anything to equal it even in England. Of course 
I saw rose gardens there on a larger scale in the parks and 
greenhouses, but I have reference to the bushes and flowers. 
To me it is just a miracle.” 

“ You are wholly mistaken. Why, Amy, an old gentleman 
who lives but a few miles away has had seventy distinct kinds 
of hybrid perpetuals in bloom at one time, and many of them 
the finest in existence ; and yet he has but a little mite of a 
garden, and has been a poor, hard-working man all his life. 
Speaking of England, when I read of what the poor working 
people of Nottingham accomplished in their little bits of glass- 
houses and their Liliputian gardens, I know that all this is very 
ordinary, and within the reach of almost any one who loves 
the flower. After one learns how to grow roses, they do not 
cost much more care and trouble than a crop of onions or 
cabbages. The soil and location here just suit the rose. You 
see that the place is sheltered, and yet there are no trees near 
to shade them and drain the ground of its richness.” 

“ Oh, you are sure to make it all seem simple and natural. 
It’s a way you have,” she said. “ But to me it’s a miracle. I 
don’t believe there are many who have your feeling for this 
flower or your skill.” 

“ You are mistaken again. The love for roses is very com- 
mon, as it should be, for millions of plants are sold annually, 
and the trade in them is steadily increasing. Come, let me 
give you a lesson in the distinguishing marks of the different 
kinds. A rose will smell as sweet by its own name as by 
another, and you will find no scentless flowers here. There 
are some fine odorless ones, like the Beauty of Stapleford, but 
I give them no place.” 

The moments flew by unheeded until an hour had passed, 
and then Webb, looking at the sun, exclaimed : “ I must go. 
This will answer for the first lesson. You can bring mother 


WEBB 'S ROSES AND ROMANCE. 


261 


here now in her garden chair whenever she wishes to come, 
and I will give you other lessons, until you are a true connois- 
seur in roses ; ” and he looked at those in her cheeks as if they 
were more lovely than any to which he had been devoted for 
years. 

“ Well, Webb,” she said, laughing, “ I cannot think of any- 
thing lacking in my morning’s experience. I was wakened by 
the song of birds. You have revealed to me the mystery of 
your sanctum, and that alone, you know, would be happiness 
to the feminine soul. You have also introduced me to dozens 
of your sweethearts, for you look at each rose as Burt does at 
the pretty girls he meets. You have shown me your budding 
rose garden in the dewy morning, and that was appropriate, 
too. Every one of your pets was gemmed and jewelled for the 
occasion, and unrivalled musicians, cleverly concealed in the 
trees near, have filled every moment with melody. What more 
could I ask? But where are you going with that basket? ” 

“ To gather strawberries for breakfast. There are enough 
ripe this morning. You gather roses in the other basket. Why 
should we not have them for breakfast, also ? ” 

“ Why not, indeed, since it would seem that there are to be 
thousands here and elsewhere in the garden? Fresh roses and 
strawberries for breakfast — that’s country life to perfection. 
Good-by.” 

He went away as if in a dream, and his heart almost ached 
with a tension of feeling that he could not define. It seemed 
to him the culmination of all that he had loved and enjoyed. 
His rose garden had been complete at this season the year 
before, but now that Amy had entered it, the roses that she 
had touched, admired, and kissed with lips that vied with their 
petals grew tenfold more beautiful, and the spot seemed sacred 
to her alone. He could never enter it again without thinking 
of her and seeing her lithe form bending to favorites which 
hitherto he had only associated with his mother. His life 
seemed so full and his happiness so deep that he did not 


262 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


want to think, and would not analyze according to his 
habit. 

He brought the strawberries to Amy in the breakfast-room, 
and stood near while she and Johnnie hulled them. He saw 
the roses arranged by his mother’s plate in such nice harmony 
that one color did not destroy another. He replied to her 
mirthful words and rallyings, scarcely knowing what he said, so 
deep was the feeling that oppressed him, so strong was his love 
for that sweet sister who had come into his life and made it 
ideally perfect. She appreciated what he had loved so fully, 
her very presence had ever kindled his spirit, and while eager 
to learn and easily taught, how truly she was teaching him a 
philosophy of life that seemed divine ! What more could he 
desire ? The day passed in a confused maze of thought and 
happiness, so strange and absorbing that he dared not speak 
lest he should waken as from a dream. The girl had grown so 
beautiful to him that he scarcely wished to look at her, and 
hastened through his meals that he might be alone with his 
thoughts. The sun had sunk, and the moon was well over the 
eastern mountains, before he visited the rose garden. Amy 
was there, and she greeted him with a pretty petulance because 
he had not come before. Then, in sudden compunction, she 
asked : 

“ Don’t you feel well, Webb? You have been so quiet since 
we were here this morning ! Perhaps you are sorry you let me 
into this charmed seclusion.” 

“No, Amy, I am not,” he said, with an impetuosity very 
unusual in him. “ You should know me better than even to 
imagine such a thing.” 

Before he could say anything more, Burt’s mellow voice rang 
out, “ Amy ! ” 

“ Oh, I half forgot ; I promised to take a drive with Burt 
this evening. Forgive me, Webb,” she added, gently; “ I only 
spoke in sport. I do know you too well to imagine I am un- 
welcome here. No one ever had a kinder or more patient 


WEBB'S ROSES AND ROMANCE . 263 


brother than you have been to me ; ” and she clasped her 
hands upon his arm, and looked up into his face with frank 
affection. 

His arm trembled under her touch, and he felt that he must 
be alone. In his usual quiet tones, however, he was able to 
say : “ You, rather, must forgive me that I spoke so hastily. 
No ; I’m not ill, but very tired. A good night’s rest will bring 
me around. Go and enjoy your drive to the utmost.” 

“ Webb, you work too hard,” she said, earnestly. “ But Burt 
is calling — ” 

“ Yes ; do not keep him waiting ; and think of me,” he 
added, laughing, “ as too weary for moonlight, roses, or any- 
thing but prosaic sleep. June is all very well, but it brings a 
pile of work to a fellow like me.” 

“Oh, Webb, what a clodhopper you’re trying to make your- 
self out to be ! Well, ‘ Sleep, sleep ’ — I can’t think of the rest 
of the quotation. Good-by. Yes, I’m coming ! ” rang out 
her clear voice; and, with a smiling glance backward, she 
hastened away. 

From the shrubbery he watched her pass up the wide garden 
path, the moonlight giving an ethereal beauty to her slight form 
with its white, close drapery. Then, deeply troubled, he threw 
himself on a rustic seat near the wall, and buried his face in 
his hands. It was all growing too clear to him now, and he 
found himself face to face with the conviction that Amy was 
no longer his sister, but the woman he loved. The deep- 
hidden current of feeling that had been gathering volume for 
months at last flashed out into the light, and there could be no 
more disguise. The explanation of her power over him was 
now given to his deepest consciousness. By some law of his 
nature, when she spoke he had ever listened ; whatever she 
said and did had been invested with a nameless charm. Day 
after day they had been together, and their lives had harmonized 
like two chords that blend in one sweet sound. He had never 
had a sister, and his growing interest in Amy had seemed the 


264 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


most natural thing in the world ; that Burt should love her, 
equally natural — to fall in love was almost a habit with the 
mercurial young fellow when thrown into the society of a pretty 
girl — and he had felt that he should be only too glad that his 
brother had at last fixed his thoughts on one who would not 
be a stranger to them. He now remembered that, while all 
this had been satisfactory to reason, his heart for a long time 
had been uttering its low, half-conscious protest. Now he 
knew why. The events of this long day had revealed him 
unto himself, because he was ripe for the knowledge. 

His nature had its hard, practical business side, but he had 
never been content with questions of mere profit and loss. He 
not only had wanted the com, but the secret of the corn’s 
growth and existence. To search into Nature’s hidden life, so 
that he could see through her outward forms the mechanism 
back of all, and trace endless diversity to simple inexorable 
laws, had been his pride and the promised solace of his life. 
His love of the rose had been to him what it is to many another 
hard-working man and woman — recreation, a habit, something 
for which he had developed the taste and feeling of a connois- 
seur. It had had no appreciable influence on the current of 
his thoughts. Amy’s coming, however, had awakened the poetic 
side of his temperament, and, while this had taken nothing from 
the old, it had changed everything. Before, his life had been 
like nature in winter, when all things are in hard, definite out- 
line. The feeling which she had inspired brought the trans- 
forming flowers and foliage. It was an immense addition to 
that which already existed, and which formed the foundation 
for it. For a long time he had exulted in this inflorescence of 
his life, as it were, and was more than content. He did not 
know that the spirit gifted even unconsciously with the power 
thus to develop his own nature must soon become to him more 
than a cause of an effect, more than a sister upon whom he 
could look with as tranquil eyes and even pulse in youth as in 
frosty age. But now he knew it with the absolute certainty that 


WEBB'S ROSES AND ROMANCE. 265 


was characteristic of his mind when once it grasped a truth. 
The voice of Burt calling “ Amy,” after the experiences of the 
day, had been like a shaft of light, instantly revealing everything. 
For her sake more than his own he had exerted himself to the 
utmost to conceal the truth of that moment of bitter conscious- 
ness. He trembled as he thought of his blind, impetuous words 
and her look of surprise ; he grew cold with dread as he re- 
membered how easily he might have betrayed himself. 

And now what should he do? what could he do but hide 
the truth with sleepless vigilance ? He could not become his 
brother’s rival. In the eyes of Amy and all the family Burt was 
her acknowledged suitor, who, having been brought to reason, 
was acting most rationally and honorably. Whether Amy was 
learning to love him or not made no difference. If she, grow- 
ing conscious of her womanhood, was turning her thoughts to 
Burt as the one who had first sought her, and who was now 
cheerfully waiting until the look of shy choice and appeal came 
into her eyes, he could not seek to thrust his younger brother 
aside. If the illustration of the rose which she had forced in- 
to unnatural bloom was still true of her heart, he would be false 
to her and himself, as well as to Burt, should he seek her in the 
guise of a lover. He had felt that it was almost sacrilege to 
disturb her May-like girlhood ; that this child of nature should 
be left wholly to nature’s impulses and to nature’s hour for 
awakening. 

“ If it only could have been, how rich and full life would be ! ” 
he thought. “ We were in sympathy at almost every point. 
When shall I forget the hour we spent here this morning ! The 
exquisite purity and beauty of the dawn, the roses with the dew 
upon them, seemed emblems of herself. Hereafter they will 
ever speak to me of her. That perfunre that comes on the 
breeze to me now from the wild grapevine — the most delicate 
and delightful of all the odors of June — is instantly associated 
with her in my mind, as all things lovely in nature ever will be 
hereafter. How can I hide all this from her, and seem merely 


266 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


her quiet elderly brother? How can I meet her here to-morrow 
morning, and in the witchery of summer evenings, and still 
speak in measured tones, and look at her as I would at John- 
nie ? The thing is impossible until I have gained a stronger 
self-control. I must go away for a day or two, and I will. 
When I return neither Burt nor Amy shall have cause to 'Com- 
plain ; ” and he strode away. 

The evening mail brought an excuse. A firm to whom the 
Cliffords had been sending part of their produce had not given 
full satisfaction, and Webb announced his intention of going to 
the city in the morning to investigate matters. His father and 
Leonard approved of his purpose, and when he added that he 
might stay in town for two or three days, that he felt the need 
of a little change and rest before haying and harvest began, they 
all expressed their approval still more heartily. 

The night was so beautiful that Burt prolonged his drive. 
The witchery of the romantic scenery through which he and 
Amy passed, and the loveliness of her profile in the pale light, 
almost broke down his resolution, and once, in accents much 
too tender, he said, “ Oh, Amy, I am so happy when with you ! 

“ I’m happy with you also,” she replied, in brusque tones, 
“ now that you have become so sensible.” 

He took the hint, and said, emphatically : “ Don’t you ever 
be apprehensive or nervous when with me. I’ll wait, and be 
- sensible,’ as you express it, till I’m gray.” 

Her laugh rang out merrily, but she made no other reply. 
He was a little nettled, and mentally vowed a constancy that 
would one day make her regret that laugh. 

Webb had retired when Amy returned, and she learned of 
his plans from Maggie. “ It’s just the best thing he can do,” 
she said, earnestly. Webb’s been overworking, and he needs 
and deserves a little rest.” 

In the morning he seemed so busy with his preparations that 
he had scarcely time to give her more than a genial off-hand 
greeting. 


WEBB'S ROSES AND ROMANCE. 


267 


“ Oh, Webb, I shall miss you so much ! ” she said, in parting, 
and her look was very kind and wistful. He did not trust him- 
self to speak, but gave her a humorous and what seemed to her 
a half-incredulous smile. He puzzled her, and she thought 
about him and his manner of the previous day and evening not 
a little. With her sensitive nature, she could not approach so 
near the mystery that he was striving to conceal without being 
vaguely impressed that there was something unusual about him. 
The following day, however, brought a cheerful, business-like 
letter to his father, which was read at the dinner-table. He had 
straightened out matters in town and seemed to be enjoying 
himself. She more than once admitted that she did miss him 
as she would not any other member of the household. But her 
out-door life was very full. By the aid of her glass she made 
the intimate acquaintance of her favorite songsters. Every day 
she took Mrs. Clifford in her garden chair to the rosary, , and 
proposed through her instruction to give Webb a surprise when 
he returned. She would prove to him that she could name his 
pets from their fragrance, form, and color as well as he himself. 


268 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A SHAM BATTLE AT WEST POINT. 

B URT did his best to keep things lively, and a few days after 
Webb’s departure said : “ I’ve heard that there is to be a 
sham battle at West Point this afternoon. Suppose we go and 
see it.” 

The heavy guns from the river batteries had been awakening 
deep echoes among the mountains every afternoon for some 
time past, reminding the Cliffords that the June examinations 
were taking place at the Military Academy, and that there was 
much of interest occurring near them. Not only did Amy as- 
sent to Burt’s proposition, but Leonard also resolved to go and 
take Maggie and the children. In the afternoon a steam-yacht 
bore them and many other excursionists to their destination, 
and they were soon skirting the grassy plain on which the mil- 
itary evolutions were to take place. 

The scene was full of novelty and interest for Amy. Thou- 
sands of people were there, representing every walk and con- 
dition of life. Plain farmers with their wives and children, 
awkward country fellows with their sweethearts, dapper clerks 
with bleached hands and faces, were passing to and fro among 
ladies in Parisian toilets and with the unmistakable air of the 
metropolis. There were officers with stars upon their shoulders, 
and others, quite as important in their bearing, decorated with 
the insignia of a second lieutenant. Plain-looking men were 
pointed out as senators, and elegantly dressed men were, at 
a glance, seen to be nobodies. Scarcely a type was wanting 


A SHAM BATTLE AT WEST POINT 269 


among those who came to see how the nation’s wards were 
drilled and prepared to defend the nation’s honor and maintain 
peace at the point of the bayonet. On the piazzas of the offi- 
cers’ quarters were groups of favored people whose relations or 
distinguished claims were such as to give them this advantage 
over those who must stand where they could to see the pageant. 
The cadets in their gray uniforms were conspicuously absent, 
but the band was upon the plain discoursing lively music. From 
the enclosure within the barracks came the long roll of a drum, 
and all eyes turned thitherward expectantly. Soon from under 
the arched sally-port two companies of cadets were seen issu- 
ing on the double-quick. They crossed the plain with the per- 
fect time and precision of a single mechanism, and passed down 
into a depression of the ground towards the river. After an 
interval the other two companies came out in like manner, and 
halted on the plain within a few hundred yards of this depres- 
sion, their bayonets scintillating in the unclouded afternoon sun. 
Both parties were accompanied by mounted cadet officers. The 
body on the plain threw out pickets, stacked arms, and lounged 
at their ease. Suddenly a shot was fired to the eastward, then 
another, and in that direction the pickets were seen running in. 
With marvellous celerity the loungers on the plain seized. their 
muskets, formed ranks, and faced towards the point from which 
the attack was threatened. A skirmish line was thrown out, and 
this soon met a similar line advancing from the depression, slop- 
ing eastward. Behind the skirmishers came a compact line of 
battle, and it advanced steadily until within fair musket range, 
when the firing became general. While the attacking party ap- 
peared to fight resolutely, it was soon observed that they made 
no further effort to advance, but sought only to occupy the 
attention of the party to which they were opposed. 

The Cliffords stood on the northwestern edge of the plain 
near the statue of General Sedgwick, and from this point they 
could also see what was occurring in the depression towards 
the river. “Turn, Amy, quick, and see what’s coming,” cried 


2 70 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY 


Burt. Stealing up the hillside in solid column was another 
body of cadets. A moment later they passed near on the 
double-quick, went into battle formation on the run, and with 
loud shouts charged the flank and rear of the cadets on the 
plain, who from the first had sustained the attack. These 
seemed thrown into confusion, for they were now between two 
fires. After a moment of apparent indecision they gave way 
rapidly in seeming defeat and rout, and the two attacking 
parties drew together in pursuit. When they had united, the 
pursued, who a moment before had seemed a crowd of fugi- 
tives, became almost instantly a steady line of battle. The 
order, “ Charge ! ” rang out, and, with fixed bayonets, they 
rushed upon their assailants, and steadily drove them back over 
the plain, and down into their original position. It was all 
carried out with a fair degree of life-like reality. The “ sing ” 
of minie bullets was wanting, but abundance of noise and sul- 
phurous smoke can be made with blank cartridges ; and as the 
party attacked plucked victory from seeming defeat, the peo- 
ple’s acclamations were loud and long. 

At this point the horse of one of the cadet officers became 
unmanageable. They had all observed this rider during the 
battle, admiring the manner in which he restrained the vicious 
brute, but at last the animal’s excitement or fear became so 
great that he rushed towards the crowded sidewalk and road in 
front of the officers’ quarters. The people gave way to right 
and left. Burt had scarcely time to do more than encircle Amy 
with his arm and sweep her out of the path of the terrified 
beast. The cadet made heroic efforts, until it was evident that 
the horse would dash into the iron fence beyond the road, and 
then the young fellow was off and on his feet with the agility of 
a cat, but he still maintained his hold upon the bridle. A sec- 
ond later there was a heavy thud heard above the screams of 
women and children and the shouts of those vociferating ad- 
vice. The horse fell heavily in his recoil from the fence, and 
in a moment or two was led limping and crestfallen away, while 


A SHAM BATTLE AT WEST POINT. 


271 


the cadet quietly returned to his comrades on the plain. John- 
nie and little Ned were crying from fright, and both Amy and 
Maggie were pale and nervous ; therefore Leonard led the way 
out of the crowd. From a more distant point they saw the 
party beneath the hill rally for a final and united charge, which 
this time proved successful, and the companies on the plain, 
after a stubborn resistance, were driven back to the barracks, 
and through the sally-port, followed by their opponents. The 
clouds of smoke rolled away, the band struck up a lively air, 
and the lines of people broke up into groups and streamed in 
all directions. Leonard decided that it would be best for them 
to return by the evening boat, and not wait for parade, since 
the little yacht would certainly be overcrowded at a later hour. 


2 72 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


CHASED BY A THUNDER-SHOWER. 


HE first one on the Powell to greet them was Webb, re- 



I turning from the city. Amy thought he looked so thin 
as to appear almost haggard, but he seemed in the best of 
spirits, and professed to feel well and rested. She half ima- 
gined that she missed a certain gentleness in his words and man- 
ner towards her, but when he heard how nearly she had been 
trampled upon, she was abundantly satisfied by his look of deep 
affection and solicitude as he said : “ Heaven bless your strong, 
ready arm, Burt ! ” “ Oh, that it had been mine ! ” was his in- 

ward thought. He masked his feelings so well, however, that 
all perplexity passed from her mind. She was eager to visit the 
rose garden with him, and when there he praised her quickly 
acquired skill so sincerely that her face flushed with pleasure. 
No one seemed to enjoy the late but ample supper more than 
he, or to make greater havoc in the well-heaped dish of straw- 
berries. “I tasted none like these in New York,” he said. 
“ After all, give me the old-fashioned kind. We’ve tried many 
varieties, but the Triomphe de Gand proves the most satisfac- 
tory, if one will give it the attention it deserves. The fruit 
ripens early and lasts till late. It is firm and good even in 
cool, wet weather, and positively delicious after a sunny day 
like this.” 

“ I agree with you, Webb,” said his mother, smiling. “ It’s 
the best of all the kinds we’ve had, except, perhaps, the Presi- 
dent Wilder, but that doesn’t bear well in our garden.” 


CHASED BY A THUNDER-SHOWER. 273 

“ Well, mother,” he replied, with a laugh, “ the best is not 
too good for you. I have a row of Wilders, however, for your 
especial benefit, but they’re late, you know.” 

The next morning he went into the haying with as much 
apparent zest as Leonard. They began with red-top clover. 
The growth had been so heavy that in many places it had 
“lodged,” or fallen, and it had to be cut with scythes. Later 
on, the mowing-machine would be used in the timothy fields 
and meadows. Amy, from her open window, watched him as 
he steadily bent to the work, and she inhaled with pleasure the 
odors from the bleeding clover, for it was the custom of the 
Cliffords to cut their grasses early, while full of the native juices. 
Rakes followed the scythes speedily, and the clover was piled 
up into compact little heaps, or “ cocks,” to sweat out its moist- 
ure rather than yield it to the direct rays of the sun. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” said Amy, at the dinner- table, “ my bees won’t 
fare so well, now that you are cutting down so much of their 
pasture.” 

“ Red clover affords no pasturage for honey-bees,” said Webb, 
laughing. “How easily he seems to laugh of late!” Amy 
thought. “ They can’t reach the honey in the long, tube-like 
blossoms. Here the bumble-bees have everything their way, 
and get it all except what is sipped by the humming-birds, with 
their long beaks, as they feed on the minute insects within the 
flowers. I’ve heard the question, Of what use are bumble- 
bees? — I like to say bumble best, as I did when a boy. Well, 
I’ve been told that red clover cannot be raised without this in- 
sect, which, passing from flower to flower, carries the fertilizing 
pollen. In Australia the rats and the field mice were so abun- 
dant that they destroyed these bees, which, as you know, make 
their nests on the ground, and so cats had to be imported in 
order to give the bumble-bees and red clover a chance for life. 
There is always trouble in nature unless an equilibrium is kept 
up. Much as I dislike cats, I must admit that they have con- 
tributed largely towards the prosperity of an incipient empire.” 


274 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ When I was a boy,” remarked Leonard, “I was cruel 
enough to catch bumble-bees and pull them apart for the sake 
of the sac of honey they carry.” 

Alf hung his head, and looked very conscious. “ Own up, 
Alf,” laughed Webb. 

• “ Well, I ain’t any worse than papa,” said the boy. 

All through the afternoon the musical sound of whetting the 
scythes with the rifle rang out from time to time, and in the 
evening Leonard said, “ If this warm, dry weather holds till to- 
morrow night, we shall get in our clover in perfect condition.” 

On the afternoon of the following day the two-horse wagon, 
surmounted by the hay-rack, went into the barn again and 
again with its fragrant burden ; but at last Amy was aroused 
from her book by a heavy vibration of thunder. Going to a 
window facing the west, she saw a threatening cloud that every 
moment loomed vaster and darker. The great vapory heads, 
tipped with light, towered rapidly, until at last the sun passed 
into a sudden eclipse that was so deep as to create almost a 
twilight. As the cloud approached, there was a low, distant, 
continuous sound, quite distinct fromne arer and heavier peals, 
which after brief and briefer intervals followed the lightning 
gleams athwart the gloom. She saw that the hay-makers were 
gathering the last of the clover, and raking, pitching, and load- 
ing with eager haste, their forms looking almost shadowy in the 
distance and the dim light. Their task was nearly completed, 
and the horses’ heads were turned barnward, when a flash of 
blinding intensity came, with an instantaneous crash, that roared 
away to the eastward** with deep reverberations. Amy shud- 
dered, and covered her face with her hands. When she looked 
again, the clover-field and all that it contained seemed annihi- 
lated. The air was thick with dust, straws, twigs, and foliage 
tom away, and the gust passed over the house with a howl of 
fury scarcely less appalling than the thunder-peal had been. 
Trembling, and almost faint with fear, she strained her eyes 
towards the point where she had last seen Webb loading the 


CHASED BY A THUNDER-SHOWER. 275 


hay-rack. The murky obscurity lightened up a little, and in a 
moment or two she saw him whipping the horses into a gallop. 
The doors of the barn stood open, and the rest of the workers 
had taken a cross-cut towards it, while Mr. Clifford was on the 
piazza, shouting for them to hurry. Great drops splashed 
against the window-panes, and the heavy, monotonous sound 
of the coming torrent seemed to approach like the rush of a 
locomotive. Webb, with the last load, is wheeling to the en- 
trance of the barn. A second later, and the horses’ feet re- 
sound on the planks of the floor. Then all is hidden, and the 
rain pours against the window like a cataract. In swift alterna- 
tion of feeling she clapped her hands in applause, and ran 
down to meet Mr. Clifford, who, with much effort, was shutting 
the door against the gale. When he turned he rubbed his 
hands and laughed as he said, “Well, I never saw Webb chased 
so sharply by a thunder-shower before ; but he won the race, 
and the clover’s safe.” 

The storm soon thundered away to parts unknown, the setting 
sun spanning its retreating murkiness with a magnificent bow ; 
long before the rain ceased the birds were exulting in jubilant 
chorus, and the air grew still and deliciously cool and fragrant. 
When at last the full moon rose over the Beacon Mountains 
there was not a cloud above the horizon, and Nature, in all her 
shower-gemmed and June-clad loveliness, was like a radiant 
beauty lost in revery. 


2 y6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


THE RESCUE OF A HOME. 


HO remembers when his childhood ceased ? Who can 



vv name the hour when buoyant, thoughtless, half-reckless 
youth felt the first sobering touch of manhood, or recall the day 
when he passed over the summit of his life, and faced the long 
decline of age ? As imperceptibly do the seasons blend when 
one passes and merges into another. There were traces of 
summer in May, lingering evidences of spring far into June, 
and even in sultry July came days in which the wind in the 
groves and the chirp of insects at night foretold the autumn. 

The morning that followed the thunder-shower was one of 
warm, serene beauty. The artillery of heaven had done no 
apparent injury. A rock may have been riven in the mountains, 
a lonely tree splintered, but homes were safe, the warm earth 
was watered, and the air purified. With the dawn Amy’s bees 
were out at work, gleaning the last sweets from the white clover, 
that was on the wane, from the flowers of the garden, field, and 
forest. The rose garden yielded no honey : the queen of flowers 
is visited by no bees. The sweetbrier, or eglantine, belonging 
to this family is an exception, however, and if the sweets of 
these wild roses could be harvested, an Ariel would not ask for 
daintier sustenance. 

White and delicate pink hues characterize the flowers of 
early spring. In June the wild blossoms emulate the skies, and 
blue predominates. In July and August many of the more 
sensitive in Flora’s train blush crimson under the direct gaze of 


THE RESCUE OF A HOME. 


277 


the sun. Yellow hues hold their own throughout the year, from 
the dandelions that first star the fields to the golden-rod that 
flames until quenched by frost and late autumn storms. 

During the latter part of June the annual roses of the garden 
were in all stages and conditions. Beautiful buds could be 
gleaned among the developing seed receptacles and matured 
flowers that were casting their petals on every breeze. The 
thrips and the disgusting rose-bug were also making havoc here 
and there. But an untiring vigilance watched over the rose 
garden. Morning, noon, and evening Webb cut away the fad- 
ing roses, and Amy soon learned to aid him, for she saw that 
his mind was bent on maintaining the roses in this little nook 
at the highest attainable point of perfection. It is astonishing 
how greatly nature can be assisted and directed by a little 
skilled labor at the right time. Left to themselves, the superb 
varieties in the rose garden would have spent the remainder of 
the summer and autumn chiefly in the development of seed- 
vessels, and in resting after their first bloom. But the pruning- 
knife had been too busy among them, and the thoroughly 
fertilized soil sent up supplies that must be disposed of. As 
soon as the bushes had given what may be termed their first 
annual bloom they were cut back half-way to the ground, and 
dormant buds were thus forced into immediate growth. Mean- 
while the new shoots that in spring had started from the roots 
were already loaded with buds, and so, by a little management 
and attention, the bloom would be maintained until frosty nights 
should bring the sleep of winter. No rose-bug escaped Webb’s 
vigilant search, and the foliage was so often sprayed by a garden 
syringe with an infusion of white hellebore that thrips and slugs 
met their deserved fate before they had done any injury. Thus 
for Mrs. Clifford and Amy was maintained a supply of these ex- 
quisite flowers, which in a measure became a part of their 
daily food. 

Nature was culminating. On every side was the fulfilment 
of its innumerable promises. The bluebird, with the softness 


2 y8 


NATL/RE'S SERIAL STORY. 


of June in his notes, had told his love amid the snows and gales 
of March, and now, with unabated constancy, and with all a 
father’s solicitude, he was caring for his third nestful of fledg- 
lings. Young orioles were essaying flight from their wind- 
rocked cradles on the outer boughs of the elms. Phoebe-birds, 
with nests beneath bridges over running streams, had, neverthe- 
less, the skill to land their young on the banks. Nature was 
like a vast nursery, and from gardens, lawns, fields, and forest 
the cries and calls of feathered infancy were heard all day, and 
sometimes in the darkness, as owls, hawks, and other night 
prowlers added to the fearful sum of the world’s tragedies. 
The cat-birds, that had built in some shrubbery near the house, 
had by the last of June done much to gain Amy’s good-will 
and respect. As their domestic character and operations could 
easily be observed, she had visited them almost daily from the 
time they had laid the dry-twig and leafy foundation of their 
nest until its lining of fine dry grasses was completed. She 
had found that, although inclined to mock and gibe at out- 
siders, they were loyal and affectionate to each other. In their - 
home-building, in the incubation of the deep bluish-green eggs, 
and in the care of the young, now almost ready to fly, they had 
been mutually helpful and considerate, fearless and even fierce 
in attacking all who approached too near their domicile. To 
Amy and her daily visits they had become quite reconciled, 
even as she had grown interested in them, in spite of a certain 
lack of the high breeding which characterized the thrushes and 
other favorites. 

“ My better acquaintance with them,” she said one evening 
to Dr. Marvin, who, with his wife, had stopped at the Cliffords’ 
in passing, “ has taught me a lesson. I think I’m too much in- 
clined to sweeping censure on the exhibition of a few disagree- 
able traits. I’ve learned that the gossips in yonder bushes have 
some excellent qualities, and I suppose you find that this is true 
of the gossips among your patients.” 

“ Yes,” replied the doctor, “ but the human gossips draw the 


THE RESCUE OF A HOME . 


279 


more largely on one’s charity ; and if you knew how many pes- 
tiferous slugs and insects your neighbors in the shrubbery have 
already destroyed, the human genus of gossip would suffer still 
more in comparison.” 

That Amy had become so interested in these out-door neigh- 
bors turned out to their infinite advantage, for one morning 
their excited cries of alarm secured her attention. Hastening 
to the locality of their nest, she looked upon a scene that chilled 
the blood in her own veins. A huge black-snake suspended 
his weight along the branches of the shrubbery with entire con- 
fidence and ease, and was in the act of swallowing a fledgling 
that, even as Amy looked, sent out its last despairing peep. 
The parent birds were frantic with terror, and their anguish and 
fearless efforts to save their young redeemed them forever in 
Amy’s eyes. 

“ Webb ! ” she cried, since, for some reason, he ever came 
first to her mind in an emergency. It so happened that he had 
just come from the hay-field to rest awhile and prepare for din- 
ner. In a moment he was at her side, and followed with hasty 
glance her pointing finger. 

“ Come away, Amy,” he said, as he looked at her pale face 
and dilated eyes. “ I do not wish you to witness a scene like 
that ; ” and almost by force he drew her to the piazza. In a 
moment he was out with a breech-loading gun, and as the 
smoke of the discharge lifted, she saw a writhing, sinuous form 
fall heavily to the earth. After a brief inspection Webb came 
towards her in smiling assurance, saying : “ The wretch got only 
one of the little family. Four birds are left. There now, don’t 
feel so badly. You have saved a home from utter desolation. 
That, surely, will be a pleasant thing to remember.” 

“ What could I have done if you had not come? ” 

“ I don’t like to think of what you might have done — emu- 
lated the mother-bird, perhaps, and flown at the enemy.” 

“ I did not know you were near when I called your name,” 
she said. “ It was entirely instinctive on my part ; and I be- 


28 o 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


lieve,” she added, musingly, looking with a child’s directness 
into his eyes, “ that one’s instincts are usually right ; don’t you? ” 

He turned away to hide the feeling of intense pleasure 
caused by her words, but only said, in a low voice, “ I hope I 
may never fail you, Amy, when you turn to me for help.” 
Then he added, quickly, as if hastening away from delicate 
ground : “ While those large black-snakes are not poisonous, 
they are ugly customers sometimes. I have read of an instance 
in which a boy put his hand into the hole of a tree where there 
had been a bluebird’s nest, and touched the cold scales of one 
of these snakes. The boy took to his heels, with the snake 
after him, and it is hard to say what would have happened had 
not a man ploughing near come to the rescue with a heavy ox- 
whip. What I should fear most in your case would be a ner- 
vous shock had the snake even approached you, for you looked 
as if you had inherited from Mother Eve an unusual degree of 
hate for the reptile.” 

The report of the gun had attracted Alf and others to the 
scene. Amy, with a look of smiling confidence, said : “ Per- 
haps you have rescued me as well as the birds. I can’t believe, 
though, that such a looking creature could have tempted Eve 
to either good or evil ; ” and she entered the house, leaving him 
in almost a friendly mood towards the cause of the cat-bird’s 
woe. 

Alf exulted over the slain destroyer, and even Johnnie felt no 
compunction at the violent termination of its life. The former, 
with much sportsmanlike importance, measured it, and at the 
dinner-table announced its length to be a little over four feet. 

“By the way,” said Webb, “your adventure, Amy, reminds 
me of one of the finest descriptions I ever read ; ” and jumping 
up, he obtained from the library Burroughs’s account of a like 
scene and rescue. “ I will just give you some glimpses of the 
picture,” he said, reading the following sentences : “‘Three or 
four yards from me was the nest, beneath which, in long fes- 
toons, rested a huge black-snake. I can conceive of nothing 


THE RESCUE OF A HOME. 


281 


more overpoweringly terrible to an unsuspecting family of birds 
than the sudden appearance above their domicile of the head 
and neck of this arch-enemy. One thinks of the great myth 
of the tempter and the cause of all our woe, and wonders if the 
Arch-One is not playing off Some of his pranks before him. 
Whether we call it snake or devil matters little. I could but 
admire his terrible beauty, however ; his black, shining folds ; 
his easy, gliding movement — head erect, eyes glistening, 
tongue playing like subtile flame, and the invisible means of his 
almost winged locomotion. Presently, as he came gliding down 
the slender body of a leaning alder, his attention was attracted 
by a slight movement of my arm ; eying me an instant with 
that crouching, utter, motionless gaze which I believe only 
snakes and devils can assume, he turned quickly,’ ” etc. 

Amy shuddered, and Mrs. Clifford looked a little troubled 
that the scene in Eden should be spoken of as merely a “ myth.” 
When she was a child “ Paradise Lost ” had been her story- 
book, and the stories had become real to her. Burt, however, 
not to be outdone, recalled his classics. 

“ By the way,” he said, “ I can almost parallel your descrip- 
tion from the 4 Iliad ’ of Homer. I won’t pretend that I can 
give you the Greek, and no doubt it would be Greek to you. 
I’ll get even with you, Webb, however, and read an extract from 
Pope’s translation,” and he also made an excursion to the 
library. Returning, he said, “ Don’t ask me for the connection,” 
and read : 

“ ‘ Straight to the tree his sanguine spires he rolled, 

And curled around in many a winding fold. 

The topmost branch a mother-bird possessed ; 

Eight callow infants filled the mossy nest ; 

Herself the ninth : the serpent as he hung 
Stretched his black jaws, and crashed the crying young; 

While hovering near, with miserable moan, 

The drooping mother wailed her children gone. 

The mother last, as round the nest she flew, 

Seized by the beating wing, the monster slew.’ ” 


282 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ Bravo ! ” cried Leonard. “ I am now quite reconciled to 
your four years at college. Heretofore I had thought you had 
passed through it as Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego passed 
through the fiery furnace, without even the smell of fire upon 
their garments, but I now at last detect a genuine Greek aroma.” 

“ I think Burt’s quotation very pat,” said Amy, “ and I could 
not have believed that anything written so long ago would apply 
so marvellously to what I have seen to-day.” 

“ Marvellously pat, indeed,” said Leonard. “ And since your 
quotation has led to such a nice little pat on your classical back, 
Burt, you must feel repaid for your long burning of the mid- 
night oil.” 

Burt flushed slightly, but he turned Leonard’s shafts with 
smiling assurance, and said : “ Amply repaid. I have ever had 
an abiding confidence that my education would be of use to 
me at some time.” 

The long days grew hot, and often sultry, but the season 
brought unremitting toil. The click of the mowing-machine, 
softened by distance, came from field after field. As the grain 
in the rye grew plump and heavy, the heads drooped more and 
more, and changed from a pale yellow to the golden hue that 
announced the hour of harvest. In smooth and level fields 
the reaping-machine also lightened and expedited labor, but 
there was one upland slope that was too rough for anything ex- 
cept the old-fashioned cradle. On a breezy afternoon Amy 
went out to sketch the harvesters, and from the shade of an 
adjacent tree to listen to the rhythmical rush and rustle as the 
blade passed through the hollow stocks, and the cradle dropped 
the gathered wealth in uniform lines. Almost immediately the 
prostrate grain was transformed into tightly girthed sheaves. 
How black Abram’s great paw looked as he twisted a wisp of 
straw, bound together the yellow stalks, and tucked under the 
end of his improvised rope ! 

Webb was leading the reapers, and they had to step quickly 
to keep pace with him. As Amy appeared upon the scene he 


THE RESCUE OF A HOME . 


283 


had done no more than take off his hat and wave it to her, but 
as the men circled round the field near her again, she saw that 
her acquaintance of the mountain cabin was manfully bringing 
up the rear. Every time, before Lumley stooped to the sweep 
of his cradle, she saw that he stole a glance towards her, and 
she recognized him with cordial good-will. He, too, doffed 
his hat in grateful homage, and as he paused a moment in his 
honest toil, and stood erect, he unconsciously asserted the man- 
hood that she had restored to him. She caught his attitude, 
and he became the subject of her sketch. Rude and simple 
though it was, it would ever recall to her a pleasant picture — 
the diminishing area of standing rye, golden in the afternoon 
sunshine, with light billows running over it before the breeze, 
Webb leading, with the strong, assured progress that would ever 
characterize his steps through life, and poor Lumley, who had 
been wronged by generations that had passed away, as well as 
by his own evil, following in an honest emulation which she had 
evoked. 


284 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


A MIDNIGHT TEMPEST. 


S far as possible, the prudent Leonard, who was com- 



mander-in-chief of the harvest campaign, had made 


everything snug before the Fourth of July, which Alf ushered 
in with untimely patriotic fervor. Almost before the first bird 
had taken its head from under its wing to look for the dawn, 
he had fired a salute from a little brass cannon. Not very long 
afterwards the mountains up and down the river were echoing 
with the thunder of the guns at West Point and Newburgh. 
The day bade fair to justify its proverbial character for sultri- 
ness. Even in the early morning the air was languid and the 
heat oppressive. The sun was but a few hours high before 
the song of the birds almost ceased, with the exception of the 
somewhat sleepy whistling of the orioles. They are half tropi- 
cal in nature as well as plumage, and their manner during the 
heat of the day is like that of languid Southern beauties. They 
kept flitting here and there through their leafy retirement in a 
mild form of restlessness, exchanging soft notes — pretty non- 
sense, no doubt — which often terminated abruptly, as if they 
had not energy enough to complete the brief strain attempted. 

Alf, with his Chinese crackers and his cannon, and Johnnie 
and Ned, with their torpedoes, kept things lively during the 
forenoon, but their elders were disposed to lounge and rest. 
The cherry-trees, laden with black and white ox-hearts, were 
visited. One of the former variety was fairly sombre with the 
abundance of its dark-hued fruit, and Amy’s red lips grew 


A MIDNIGHT TEMPEST. 


285 


purple as Burt threw her down the largest and ripest from the 
topmost boughs. Webb, carrying a little basket lined with 
grapevine leaves, gleaned the long row of Antwerp raspberries. 
The first that ripen of this kind are the finest and most deli- 
cious, and their strong aroma announced his approach long 
before he reached the house. His favorite Triomphe de Gand 
strawberries, that had supplied the table three weeks before, 
were still yielding a fair amount of fruit, and his mother was 
never without her dainty dish of pale red berries, to which the 
sun had been adding sweetness with the advancing season until 
nature’s combination left nothing to be desired. 

By noon the heat was oppressive, and Alf and Ned were 
rolling on the grass under a tree, quite satiated for a time with 
two elements of a boy’s elysium, fire- crackers and cherries. 
The family gathered in the wide hall, through the open doors 
of which was a slight draught of air. All had donned their 
coolest costumes, and their talk was quite as languid as the 
occasional notes and chirpings of the birds without. Amy was 
reading a magazine in a very desultory way, her eyelids droop- 
ing over every page before it was finished, Webb and Burt fur- 
tively-admiring the exquisite hues that the heat brought into 
her face, and the soft lustre of her eyes. Old Mr. Clifford 
nodded over his newspaper until his spectacles clattered to the 
floor, at which they all laughed, and asked for the news. His 
invalid wife lay upon the sofa in dreamy, painless repose. To 
her the time was like a long, quiet nooning by the wayside of 
life, with all her loved band around her, and her large, dark 
eyes rested on one and another in loving, lingering glances — 
each so different, yet each so dear ! Sensible Leonard was 
losing no time, but was audibly resting in a great wooden rock- 
ing-chair at the farther end of the hall. Maggie only, the pre- 
siding genius of the household, was not wilted by the heat. 
She flitted in and out occasionally, looking almost girlish in her 
white wrapper. She had the art of keeping house, of banishing 
dust and disorder without becoming an embodiment of dishev- 


286 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


elled disorder herself. No matter what she was doing, she 
always appeared trim and neat, and in the lover-like expression 
of her husband’s eyes, as they often followed her, she had her 
reward. She was not deceived by the semi-torpid condition of 
the household, and knew well what would be expected in a 
Fourth-of-July dinner. Nor was she disappointed. The tinkle 
of the bell at two o’clock awakened unusual animation, and 
then she had her triumph. Leonard beamed upon a hind- 
quarter of lamb roasted to the nicest turn of brownness. A 
great dish of Champion-of- England pease, that supreme product 
of the kitchen-garden, was one of the time-honored adjuncts, 
while new potatoes, the first of which had been dug that day, 
had half thrown off their mottled jackets in readiness for the 
feast. Nature had been Maggie’s handmaid in spreading that 
table, and art, with its culinary mysteries and combinations/was 
conspicuously absent. If Eve had had a kitchen range and the 
Garden of Eden to draw upon, Adam could scarcely have fared 
better than did the Clifford household that day. The dishes 
heaped with strawberries, raspberries, cherries, and white grape- 
currants that had been gathered with the dew upon them might 
well tempt the most blase resident of a town to man’s primal 
calling. 

Before they reached their iced tea, which on this hot day 
took the place of coffee, there was a distant peal of thunder. 

“ I knew it would come,” said old Mr. Clifford. “We shall 
have a cool night, after all.” 

“ A Fourth rarely passes without showers,” Leonard remarked. 
“ That’s why I was so strenuous about getting all our grass and 
grain that was down under cover yesterday.” 

“You are not the only prudent one,” Maggie added, compla- 
cently. “ I’ve made my currant jelly, and it jellied beautifully : 
it always does if I make it before the Fourth and the showers 
that come about this time. It’s queer, but a rain on the currants 
after they are fairly ripe almost spoils them for jelly.” 

The anticipations raised by the extreme sultriness were ful- 


A MIDNIGHT TEMPEST 


287 


filled at first only in part. Instead of a heavy shower accom- 
panied by violent gusts, there was a succession of tropical and 
vertical down* pourings, with now and then a sharp flrsh and a 
rattling peal, but usually a heavy monotone of thunder from 
bolts flying in the distance. One great cloud did not sweep 
across the sky like a concentrated charge, leaving all clear be- 
hind it, as is so often the case, but, as if from an immense 
reserve, Nature appeared to send out her vapory forces by 
battalions. Instead of enjoying the long siesta which she had 
promised herself, Amy spent the afternoon in watching the 
cloud scenery. A few miles southwest of the house was a 
prominent highland that happened to be in the direct line of 
the successive showers. This formed a sort of gauge of their 
advance. A cloud would loom up behind it, darken it, obscure 
it until it faded out even as a shadow; then the nearer 
spurs of the mountains would be blotted out, and in eight or 
ten minutes even the barn and the adjacent groves would be 
but dim outlines through the myriad rain-drops. The cloud 
would soon be well to the eastward, the dim landscape take 
form and distinctness, and the distant highland appear again, 
only to be obscured in like manner within the next half-hour. 
It was as if invisible and Titanic gardeners were stepping across 
the country with their watering-pots. 

Burt and Webb sat near Amy at the open window, the former 
chatting easily, and often gayly. Webb, with his deep-set eyes 
fixed on the clouds, was comparatively silent. At last he rose 
somewhat abruptly, and was not seen again until evening, when 
he seemed to be in unusually good spirits. As the dusk deep- 
ened he aided Alf and Johnnie in making the finest possible 
display of their fireworks, and for half an hour the excitement 
was intense. The family applauded from the piazza. Leonard 
and his father, remembering the hay and grain already stored in 
the barn, congratulated each other that the recent showers had 
prevented all danger from sparks. 

After the last rocket had run its brief, fiery course, Alf and 


288 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Johnnie were well content to go with Webb, Burt, and Amy to 
an upper room whose windows looked out on Newburgh Bay 
and to the westward. Near and far, from their own and the 
opposite side of the river, rockets were flaming into the sky, 
and Roman candles sending up their globes of fire. But 
Nature was having a celebration of her own, which so far sur- 
passed anything terrestrial that it soon won their entire atten- 
tion. A great black cloud that hung darkly in the west was 
the background for the electric pyrotechnics. Against this 
obscurity the lightning played almost every freak imaginable. 
At one moment there would be an immense illumination, and 
the opaque cloud would become vivid gold. Again, across its 
blackness a dozen fiery rills of light would burn their way in 
zigzag channels, and not infrequently a forked bolt would blaze 
earthward. Accompanying these vivid and central effects were 
constant illuminations of sheet-lightning all round the horizon, 
and the night promised to be a carnival of thunder-showers 
throughout the land. The extreme heat continued, and was 
rendered far more oppressive by the humidity of the atmosphere. 

The awful grandeur of the cloud scenery at last so oppressed 
Amy that she sought relief in Maggie’s lighted room. As we 
have already seen, her sensitive organization was peculiarly 
affected by an atmosphere highly charged with electricity. 
She was not re-assured, for Leonard inadvertently remarked 
that it would take “ a rousing old-fashioned storm to cool and 
clear the air.” 

“ Why, Amy,” exclaimed Maggie, “ how pale you are ! and 
your eyes shine as if some of the lightning had got into them.” 

“ I wish it was morning,” said the girl. “ Such a sight 
oppresses me like a great foreboding of evil ; ” and, with a 
restlessness she could not control, she went down to Mrs. 
Clifford’s room. She found Mr. Clifford fanning the invalid, 
who was almost faint from the heat. Amy took his place, and 
soon had the pleasure of seeing her charge drop off into quiet 
slumber. As Mr. Clifford was very weary also, Amy left them 


A MIDNIGHT TEMPEST. 


289 


to their rest, and went to the sitting-room, where Webb was 
reading. Burt had fallen asleep on the lounge in the hall. 
Leonard’s prediction promised to come true. The thunder 
muttered nearer and nearer, but it was a sullen, slow, remorse- 
less approach through the absolute silence and darkness with- 
out, and therefore was tenfold more trying to one nervously 
apprehensive than a swift, gusty storm would have been in 
broad day. 

Webb looked up and greeted her with a smile. His lamp 
was shaded, and the room shadowy, so that he did not note 
that Amy was troubled and depressed. “ Shall I read to you ? ” 
he asked. “ I am running over Hawthorne’s * English Note- 
Books ’ again.” 

“ Yes,” she said, in a low voice ; and she sat down with her 
back to the windows, through which shone momentarily the 
glare of the coming tempest. He had not read a page before 
a long, sullen peal rolled across the entire arc of the sky. 
“ Webb,” faltered Amy, and she rose and took an irresolute 
step towards him. 

His pre-occupation was instantly gone. Never had he heard 
sweeter music than that low appeal, to which the deep echoes 
in the mountains formed a strange accompaniment. He stepped 
to her side, took her hand, and found it cold and trembling. 
Drawing her within the radiance of the lamp, he saw how pale 
she was, and that her eyes were dilated with nervous dread. 

“ Webb,” she began again, “do you — do you think there is 
danger?” 

“ No, Amy,” he said, gently ; “ there is no danger for you in 
God’s universe.” 

“ Oh, that frightful glare ! ” and she buried her face on his 
shoulder. “Webb,” she whispered, “won’t you stay up till the 
storm is over? And you won’t think me weak or silly either, 
will you? Indeed, I can’t help it. I wish I had a little of 
your courage and strength.” 

“ I like you best as you are,” he said ; “ and all my strength 


290 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


is yours when you need it. I understand you, Amy, and well 
know you cannot help this nervous dread. I saw how these 
electrical storms affected you last February, and such experi- 
ences are not rare with finely organized natures. See, I can 
explain it all with my matter-of-fact philosophy. But, believe 
me, there is no danger. Certainly I will stay with you. What 
would I not do for you ? ” he could not help adding. 

She looked at him affectionately as she said, with a. child’s 
unconscious frankness : “ I don’t know why it is, but I always 
feel safe when with you. I often used to wish that I had a 
brother, and imagine what he would be to me ; but I never 
dreamed that a brother could be so much to me as you are. — 
Oh, Webb !” and she almost clung to him, as the heavy thunder 
pealed nearer than before. 

Involuntarily he encircled her with his arm, and drew her 
closer to him in the impulse of protection. She felt his arm 
tremble, and wholly misinterpreted the cause. Springing aloof, 
she clasped her hands, and looked around almost wildly. 

“ Oh, Webb,” she cried, “there is danger. Even you tremble.” 

Webb was human, and had nerves also, but all the thunder 
that ever roared could not affect them so powerfully as Amy’s 
head bowed upon his shoulder, and the appealing words of her 
absolute trust. He mastered himself instantly, however, for 
he saw that he must be strong and calm in order to sustain the 
trembling girl through one of Nature’s most awful moods. She 
was equally sensitive to the smiling beauty and the wrath of 
the great mother. The latter phase was much the same to her 
as if a loved face had suddenly become black with reckless 
passion. He took both her hands in a firm grasp, and said ; 
“ Amy, I am not afraid, and you must not be. You can do 
much towards self-control. Come,” he added, in tones almost 
authoritative, “ sit here by me, and give me your hand. I shall 
read to you in a voice as quiet and steady as you ever heard 
me use.” 

She obeyed, and he kept his word. His strong, even grasp 


A MIDNIGHT TEMPEST. 


291 


re-assured her in a way that excited her wonder, and the ner- 
vous paroxysm of fear began to pass away. While she did not 
comprehend what he read, his tones and expression had their in- 
fluence. His voice, however, was soon drowned by the howling 
of the tempest as it rushed upon them. He felt her hand tremble 
again, and saw her look apprehensively towards the windows. 

“ Amy,” he said, and in smiling confidence he fixed his eyes 
on hers and held them. 

The crisis of the storm was indeed terrific. The house 
rocked in the furious blasts. The uproar without was frightful, 
suggesting that the Evil One was in very truth the “ prince of the 
power of the air,” and that he was abroad with all his legions. 
Amy trembled violently, but Webb’s hand and eyes held hers. 
“ Courage ! ” he said, cheerily ; “ the storm is passing.” 

A wan, grateful smile glimmered for a moment on her pale 
face, and then her expression passed into one of horror. With a 
cry that was lost in a deafening crash, she sprang into his arms. 
Even Webb was almost stunned and blinded for a moment. 
Then he heard rapid steps. Burt at last had been aroused 
from the slumber of youth, and, fortunately for his peace, 
rushed first into his mother’s room. Webb thought Amy had 
fainted, and he laid her gently on the lounge. “ Don’t leave 
me,” she gasped, faintly. 

“ Amy,” he said, earnestly, “ I assure you that all danger is 
now over. As I told you once before, the centre of the storm 
has passed. You know I never deceived you.” 

Maggie and Burt now came running in, and Webb said, 
“ Amy has had a faint turn. I will get her a glass of water.” 

This revived her speedily, but the truth of Webb’s words 
proved more efficacious. The gale was sweeping the storm 
from the sky. The swash of the torrents mattered little, for the 
thunder-peals died away steadily to the eastward. Amy made 
a great effort to rally, for she felt ashamed of her weakness, and 
feared that the others would not interpret her as charitably as 
Webb had done. In a few minutes he smilingly withdrew, and 


292 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY , i 


went out on the rear porch with Leonard, whence they anxiously 
scanned the barn and out-buildings. These were evidently safe, 
wherever the bolt had fallen, and it must have struck near. In 
half an hour there was a line of stars along the western horizon, 
and soon the repose within the old house was as deep as that 
of nature without. 

Webb only was sleepless. He sat at his open window, and 
saw the clouds roll away. But he felt that a cloud deeper and 
murkier than any that had ever blackened the sky hung over 
his life. He knew too well why his arm had trembled when 
for a moment it encircled Amy. The deepest and strongest 
impulse of his soul was to protect her, and her instinctive 
appeal to him had raised a tempest in his heart as wild as that 
which had raged without. He felt that he could not yield her 
to another, not even to his brother. Nature itself pointed 
her to him. It was to him she turned and clung in her fears. 
And yet she had not even dreamed of his untold wealth of love, 
and probably never would suspect it. He could not reveal it 
— indeed, it must be the struggle of his life to hide it — and 
she, while loving him as a brother, might easily drift into an 
engagement and marriage with Burt. Could he be patient, and 
wear a smiling mask through it all ? That tropical night and its 
experiences taught him anew that he had a human heart, with 
all its passionate cravings. When he came down from his long 
vigil on the following morning his brow was as serene as the 
scene without. Amy gave him a grateful and significant smile, 
and he smiled back so naturally that observant Burt, who had 
been a little uneasy over the events of the previous night, 
was wholly relieved of anxiety. They had scarcely seated 
themselves at the breakfast-table before Alf came running in, 
and said that an elm not a hundred yards from the house had 
been splintered from the topmost branch to the roots. All 
except Mrs. Clifford went out to look at the smitten tree, and 
they gazed with awe at the deep furrow ploughed in the black- 
ened wood. 


A MIDNIGHT TEMPEST. 


293 


It will live/’ said Webb, quietly, as he turned away; “ it 
■will probably live out its natural life.” 

Amy, in her deep sympathy, looked after him curiously. 
There was something in his tone and manner which suggested 
a meaning beyond his words. Not infrequently he had puzzled 



CLOUDING UP. 


her of late, and this added to her interest in him. She under- 
stood Burt thoroughly. 

Good old Mr. Clifford saw in the shattered tree only reasons 
for profound thankfulness, and words of Christian gratitude 
rose to his lips. 


294 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE TWO LOVERS. 

T HE July sun speedily drank up the superabundant moist- 
ure, and the farm operations went on with expedition. 
The corn grew green and strong, and its leaves stretched up to 
Abram’s shoulder as he ran the cultivator through it for the 
last time. The moist sultriness of the Fourth finished the ox- 
heart cherries. They decayed at once, to Alf’s great regret. 
‘‘That is the trouble with certain varieties of cherries,” Webb 
remarked. “ One shower will often spoil the entire crop even 
before it is ripe.” But it so happened that there were several 
trees of native or ungrafted fruit on the place, and these sup- 
plied the children and the birds for many days thereafter. The 
robins never ceased gorging themselves. Indeed, they were 
degenerating into shameless gourmands , and losing the grace 
of song, as were also the bobolinks in the meadows. Already 
there was a perceptible decline in the morning and evening 
minstrelsy of all the birds, and, with the exception of calls and 
twitterings, they grew more and more silent through the midday 
heat. With the white bloom of the chestnut-trees the last trace 
of spring passed away. Summer reached its supreme culmina- 
tion, and days that would not be amiss at the equator were 
often followed by nights of breathless sultriness. Early in the 
month haying and harvest were over, and the last load that 
came down the lane to the barn was ornamented with green 
boughs, and hailed with acclamations by the farm hands, to 


THE TWO LOVERS. 295 

whom a generous supper was given, and something substantial 
also to take home to their families. 

As the necessity for prompt action and severe labor passed, 
the Cliffords proved that their rural life was not one of plod- 
ding, unredeemed toil. For the next few weeks Nature would 
give them a partial respite. She would finish much of the 
work which they had begun. The corn would mature, the 
oats ripen, without further intervention on their part. By slow 
but sure alchemy the fierce suns would change the acid and 
bitter juices in the apples, peaches, plums, and pears into nectar. 
Already Alf was revelling in the harvest apples, which, under 
Maggie’s culinary magic, might tempt an ascetic to surfeit. 

While Burt had manfully done his part in the harvest-field, 
he had not made as long hours as the others, and now was 
quite inclined to enjoy to the utmost a season of comparative 
leisure. He was much 'with Amy, and she took pleasure in his 
society, for, as she characterized his manner in her thoughts, 
he had grown very sensible. He had accepted the situation, 
and he gave himself not a little credit for his philosophical 
patience. He regarded himself as committed to a deep and 
politic plan, in which, however, there was no unworthy guile. 
He would make himself essential to Amy’s happiness. He 
would be so quietly and naturally devoted to her that she- 
would gradually come to look forward to a closer union as a 
matter of course. He also made it clear to her that she had no 
rivals in his thoughts, or even admiration, and, as far as cour- 
tesy permitted, withdrew from the society of a few favorites 
who once had welcomed him gladly and often. He had even 
pretended indifference to the advent of a dark-eyed beauty to the 
neighborhood, and had made no efforts to form her acquaintance. 
This stranger from the city was so charming, however, that 
he had felt more than once that he was giving no slight proof 
of constancy. His fleet horse Thunder was his great ally, and 
in the long twilight evenings, he, with Amy, explored the coun- 
try roads far and near. When the early mornings were not too 


296 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


warm they rowed upon the river, or went up the Moodna Creek 
for water-lilies, which at that hour floated upon the surface with 
their white petals all expanded — beautiful emblems of natures 
essentially good. From mud and slime they developed purity 
and fragrance. He was also teaching Amy to be an expert 
horsewoman, and they promised themselves many a long ride 
when autumn coolness should make such exercise more agree- 
able. 

Burt was a little surprised at his tranquil enjoyment of all 
this companionship, but nevertheless prided himself upon it. 
He was not so mercurial and impetuous as the others had be- 
lieved him to be, but was capable of a steady and undemonstra- 
tive devotion. Amy was worth winning at any cost, and he 
proposed to lay such a patient siege that she could not fail to 
become his. Indeed, with a disposition towards a little retalia- 
tion, he designed to carry his patience so far as to wait until he 
had seen more than once an expression in her eyes that invited 
warmer words and manner. But he had to admit that time 
was passing, and that no such expression appeared. This 
piqued him a little, and he felt that he was not appreciated. 
The impression grew upon him that she was very young — unac- 
countably young for one of her years. She enjoyed his bright 
talk and merry ways with much the same spirit that Alf ’s boy- 
ish exuberance called forth. She had the natural love of all 
young, healthful natures for pleasure and change, and she un- 
consciously acted towards him as if he were a kind, jolly brother 
who was doing much to give the spice of variety to her life. 
At the same time her unawakened heart was disposed to take 
his view of the future. Why should she not marry him, after 
her girlhood had passed ? All the family wished and expected 
it, and surely she liked him exceedingly. But it would be time 
enough for such thoughts years hence. He had the leisure and 
self-control for good-comradeship, and without questioning she 
enjoyed it. Her life was almost as free from care as that of 
the young birds that had begun their existence in June. 


THE TWO LOVERS. 


297 


Only Webb perplexed and troubled her a little. At this sea- 
son, when even Leonard indulged in not a little leisure and 
rest, he was busy and pre-occupied. She could not say that he 
avoided her, and yet it seemed to happen that they were not 
much together. “ I fear I’m too young and girlish to be a 
companion for him,” she sighed. “ His manner is just as kind 
and gentle, but he treats me as if I were his very little sister. 
I don’t seem to have the power to interest him that I once had. 
I wish I knew enough to talk to him as he would like ; ” and 
she stealthily tried to read some of the scientific books that she 
saw him poring over. 

He, poor fellow, was engaged in the most difficult task ever 
given to man — the ruling of his own spirit. He saw her 
sisterly solicitude and good-will, but could not respond in a 
manner as natural as her own. This was beyond human capa- 
bility. His best resource was the comparative solitude of con- 
stant occupation. He was growing doubtful, however, as to 
the result of his struggle, while Amy was daily becoming more 
lovely in his eyes. Her English life had not destroyed the 
native talent of an American girl to make herself attractive. 
She knew instinctively how to dress, how to enhance the 
charms of which nature had not been chary, and Webb’s phi- 
losophy and science were no defence against her winsomeness. 
In her changeful eyes lurked spells too mighty for him. Men 
of his caste rarely succumb to a learned and aggressive woman. 
They require intelligence, but it is a feminine intelligence, 
which supplements their own, and is not akin to it. Webb saw 
in Amy all that his heart craved, and he believed that he also 
saw her fulfilling Burt’s hopes. She seemed to be gradually 
learning that the light-hearted brother might bring into her life 
all the sunshine and happiness she could desire. Webb depre- 
ciated himself, and believed that he was too grave and dull to 
win in any event more than the affection which she would nat- 
urally feel for an elder brother, and this she already bestowed 
upon him frankly and unstintedly. Burt took the same view, 


298 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


and was usually complacency itself, although a week seemed a 
long time to him, and he sometimes felt that he ought to be 
making more progress. But he had no misgivings. He would 
be faithful for years, and Amy could not fail to reward such 
constancy. 


HURT'S ADVENTURE. 


299 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


burt’s adventure. 


OT only had the little rustic cottages which had been 



1 \ placed on poles here and there about the Clifford dwell- 
ing, and the empty tomato-cans which Alf, at Dr. Marvin’s 
suggestion, had fastened in the trees, been occupied by wrens 
and bluebirds, but larger homes had been taken for the summer 
by migrants from the city. Among these was a Mr. Hargrove, 
a wealthy gentleman, who had rented a pretty villa on the banks 
of the Hudson, a mile or two away. Burt, with all his proposed 
lifelong constancy, had speedily discovered that Mr. Hargrove 
had a very pretty daughter. Of course, he was quite indiffer- 
ent to the fact, but he could no more meet a girl like Gertrude 
Hargrove and be unobservant than could Amy pass a new and 
rare wildflower with unregarding eyes. Miss Hargrove was not 
a wildflower, however. She was a product of city life, and was 
perfectly aware of her unusual and exotic beauty. Admiring 
eyes had followed her even ' from childhood, and no one better 
than she knew her power. Her head had been quite turned by 
flattery, but there was a saving clause in her nature — her heart. 
She was a belle, but not a cold-blooded coquette. Admiration 
was like sunshine — a matter of course. She had always- been 
accustomed to it, as she had been to wealth, and neither had 
spoiled her. Beneath all that was artificial, all that fashion 
prescribed and society had taught, was the essential woman- 
hood which alone can win and retain a true man’s homage. 
For reasons just the reverse of those which explained Amy’s 


300 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


indisposition to sentiment, she also had been kept fancy-free. 
Seclusion and the companionship of her father, who had been 
an invalid in his later years, had kept the former a child in 
many respects, at a time when Miss Hargrove had her train of 
admirers. Miss Gertrude enjoyed the train very much, but 
showed no disposition to permit any one of its constituents to 
monopolize her. Indeed, their very numbers had been her 
safety. Her attention had been divided and distracted by a 
score of aspirants, and while in her girlish eyes some found 
more favor than others, she was inclined to laughing criticism 
of them all. They amused her immensely, and she puzzled 
them. Her almost velvety black eyes, and the rich, varying 
tints of her clear brunette complexion, suggested a nature that 
was not cold and unresponsive, yet many who would gladly have 
won the heiress for her own sake found her as elusive as only a 
woman of perfect tact and self-possession can be. She had no 
vulgar ambition to count her victims who had committed them- 
selves in words. With her keen intuition and abundant experi- 
ence she recognized the first glance that was warmer than mere 
friendliness, and this was all the committal she wished for. She 
loved the admiration of men, but was too good-hearted a girl 
to wish to make them cynics in regard to women. She also had 
the sense to know that it is a miserable triumph to lure a man 
to the declaration of a supreme regard, and then in one moment 
change it into contempt. While, therefore, she had refused 
many an offer, no one had been humiliated, no one had been 
made to feel that he had been unworthily trifled with. Thus 
she retained the respect and good-will of those to whom she 
might easily have become the embodiment of all that was false 
and heartless. She had welcomed the comparative seclusion of 
the villa on the Hudson, for, although not yet twenty, she was 
growing rather weary of society and its exactions. Its pleasures 
had been tasted too often, its burdens were beginning to be 
felt. She was a good horsewoman, and was learning, under the 
instruction of a younger brother, to row as easily and gracefully 


Burt's Adventure. 


301 

on the river as she danced in the ball-room, and she found the 
former recreation more satisfactory, from its very novelty. 

Burt was well aware of these out-door accomplishments. 
Any one inclined to rural pleasures won his attention at once ; 
and Miss Hargrove, as she occasionally trotted smartly by him, 
or skimmed near on the waters of the Hudson, was a figure 
sure to win from his eyes more than a careless glance. Thus 
far, as has been intimated, he had kept aloof, but he had 
observed her critically, and he found little to disapprove. She 
also was observing him, and was quite as well endowed as he 
with the power of forming a correct judgment. Men of almost 
every description had sought her smiles, but he did not suffer 
by comparison. His tall, lithe figure was instinct with manly 
grace. There was a fascinating trace of reckless boldness in 
his blue eyes. He rode like a centaur, and at will made his 
light boat, in which Amy was usually seated, cut through the 
water with spray flying from its prow. In Miss Hargrove’s 
present mood for rural life she wished for his acquaintance, and 
was a little piqued that he had not sought hers, since her father 
had opened the way. 

Mr. Hargrove, soon after his arrival in the neighborhood, had 
had business transactions with the Cliffords, and had learned 
enough about them to awaken a desire for social relations, and 
he had courteously expressed his wishes. Maggie and Amy had 
fully intended compliance, but the harvest had come, time had 
passed, and the initial call had not been made. Leonard was 
averse to such formalities, and, for reasons already explained, 
Burt and Webb were in no mood for them. They would not 
have failed in neighborliness much longer, however, and a call 
was proposed for the first comparatively cool day. A little in- 
cident now occurred which quite broke the ice, and also some- 
what disturbed Burt’s serenity. Amy was not feeling very well, 
and he had gone out alone for a ride on his superb black horse 
Thunder.. In a shady road some miles away, where the willows 
interlaced their branches overhead in a long, Gothic-like arch, 


302 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


he saw Miss Hargrove, mounted also, coming slowly towards 
him. He never forgot the picture she made under the rustic 
archway. Her fine horse was pacing along with a stately tread, 
his neck curved under the restraining bit, while she was evi- 
dently amusing herself by talking, for the want of a better com- 
panion, to an immense Newfoundland dog that was trotting at 
her side, and looking up to her in intelligent appreciation. 
Thus, in her pre-occupation, Burt was permitted to draw com- 
paratively near, but as soon as she observed him it was evidently 
her intention to pass rapidly. As she gave her horse the rein 
and he leaped forward, she clutched his mane, and by a word 
brought him to a standstill. Burt saw the trouble at once, for 
the girth of her saddle had broken, and hung loosely down. 
Only by prompt action and good horsemanship had she kept 
her seat. Now she was quite helpless, for an attempt to dis- 
mount would cause the heavy saddle to turn, with unknown and 
awkward results. She had recognized Burt, and knew that he 
was a gentleman ; therefore she patted her horse and quieted 
him, while the young man came promptly to her assistance. 
He, secretly exulting over the promise of an adventure, said, 
suavely, as he lifted his hat, 

“Miss Hargrove, will you permit me to aid you?” 

Certainly,” she replied, smiling so pleasantly that the words 
did not seem ungracious ; “ I have no other resource.” 

He bowed, leaped lightly to the ground, and fastened his 
horse by the roadside ; then came forward without the least 
embarrassment. “Your saddle-girth has broken,” he said. “I 
fear you must dismount. Shall I lift you off ? You maintained 
your seat admirably, but a very slight movement on your part 
will cause the saddle to turn.” 

“ I know that,” she replied, laughing. “ Helplessness is al- 
ways awkward. I am only anxious to reach ground in safety ; ” 
and she dropped the reins, and held out her hands. 

“Your horse is too high for you to dismount in that way,” he 
said, quietly, “ and the saddle might fall after you and hurt you. 


BURT'S ADVENTURE . 


303 


Pardon me ; ” and he encircled her with his right arm, and 
lifted her gently off. 

She blushed like the western sky, but he was so grave and 
apparently solicitous, and his words had made his course seem 
so essential, that she could not take offence. Indeed, he was 



“ HE NEVER FORGOT THE PICTURE SHE MADE UNDER THE RUSTIC 
ARCHWAY.” 


now giving his whole attention to the broken girth, and she 
could only await the result of his examination. 

“ I think I can mend it with a strap from my bridle so that 
it will hold until you reach home,” he said : “ but I am sorry 
to say that I cannot make it very secure. Will you hold your 
horse a moment? ” 

“ I am indebted to Mr. Clifford, I think,” she began, hesitatingly. 


304 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ I am Mr. Clifford, and, believe me, I am wholly at your 
service. If you had not been so good a horsewoman you might 
have met with a very serious accident.” 

“More thanks are due to you, I imagine,” she replied; 
“ though I suppose I could have got off in some way.” 

“ There would have been no trouble in your getting off,” he 
said, with one of his frank, contagious smiles ; “ but then your 
horse might have run away, or you would have had to lead him 
some distance, at least. Perhaps it was well that the girth gave 
way when it did, for it would have broken in a few moments 
more, in any event. Therefore I hope you will tolerate one 
not wholly unknown to you, and permit me to be of service.” 

“ Indeed, I have only cause for thanks. I have interfered 
with your ride, and am putting you to trouble.” 

“ I was only riding for pleasure, and as yet you have had all 
the trouble.” 

She did not look excessively annoyed, and in truth was en- 
joying the adventure quite as much as he was, but she only said : 
“ You have the finest horse there I ever saw. How I shottld 
like to ride him ! ” 

“ I fear he would be ungallant. He has never been ridden 
by a lady.” 

“ I should not be afraid so long as the saddle remained firm. 
What do you call him? ” 

“ Thunder.” At the sound of his name the beautiful ani- 
mal arched his neck and whinnied. “ There, be quiet, old 
fellow, and speak when you are spoken to,” Burt said. “ He is 
comparatively gentle with me, but uncontrollable by others. I 
have now done my best, Miss Hargrove, and I think you may 
mount in safety, if you are willing to walk your horse quietly 
home. But I truly think I ought to accompany you, and I will 
do so gladly, with your permission.” 

“ But it seems asking a great deal of — ” 

“ Of a stranger? I wish I knew how to bring about a formal 
introduction. I have met your father. Will you not in the 


BURT'S A D VENT URE. 


30 ; 


inflammable Burt could not be indifferent to her charms. He 
knew that he was not, but complacently assured himself that he 
was a good judge in such matters. 

Mr. Hargrove met them at the door, and his daughter laugh- 
ingly told him of her mishap. She evidently reposed in him 
the utmost confidence. He justified it by meeting her in like 
spirit with her own, and he interpreted her unspoken wishes by 
so cordially pressing Burt to remain to dinner that he was almost 
constrained to yield. “ You will be too late for your own even- 
ing meal,” he said, “ and your kindness to my daughter would 
be ill-requited, and our reputation for hospitality would suffer, 
should we let you depart without taking salt with us. After 
all, Mr. Clifford, we are neighbors. Why should there be any 
formality? ” 

Burt was the last one to have any scruples on such grounds, 
and he resolved to have his “ lark ” out, as he mentally charac- 
terized it. Mr. Hargrove had been something of a sportsman 
in his earlier days, and the young fellow’s talk was as interest- 
ing to him as it had been to Miss Gertrude. Fred, her younger 
brother, was quite captivated, and elegant Mrs. Hargrove, like 
her daughter, watched in vain for mannerisms to criticise in the 
breezy youth. The evening was half gone before Burt galloped 
homeward, smiling broadly to himself at the adventure. 

His absence had caused little remark in the family. It had 
been taken for granted that he was at Dr. Marvin’s or the par- 
sonage, for the young fellow was a great favorite with their pastor. 
When he entered the sitting-room, however, there was a sup- 
pressed excitement in his manner which suggested an unusual 
experience. He was not slow in relating all that had happened, 
for the thought had occurred to him that it might be q^pd 
policy to awaken a little jealousy in Amy. In this effort he yXs 
obliged to admit to himself that he failed signally. Even 
Webb’s searching eyes could not detect a trace of chagrin. 
She only seemed very much amused, and was laughingly pro- 
fuse in her congratulations to Burt. Moreover, she was genu- 


3°8 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


inely interested in Miss Hargrove, and eager to make her 
acquaintance. “ If she is as nice as you say, Burt,” she con- 
cluded, “ she would make a pleasant addition to our little ex- 
cursions and pleasure parties. Perhaps she’s old and bright 
enough to talk to Webb, and draw him out of his learned pre- 
occupation,” she added, with a shy glance towards the one who 
was growing too remote from her daily life. 

Even his bronzed face flushed, but he said, with a laugh : 
“ She is evidently much too bright for me, and would soon re- 
gard me as insufferably stupid. I have never found much favor 
with city dames, or with dames of any description, for that 
matter.” 

“ So much the worse for the dames, then,” she replied, with 
a piquant nod at him. 

“ Little sisters are apt to be partial judges — at least, one is,” 
he said, smilingly, as he left the room. He walked out in the 
moonlight, thinking : “ There was not a trace of jealousy in her 
face. Well, why should there be? Burt’s perfect frankness 
was enough to prevent anything of the kind. If there had 
been cause for jealousy, he would have been reticent. Besides, 
Amy is too high-toned to yield readily to this vice, and Burt 
can never be such an idiot as to endanger his prospects.” 

A scheme, however, was maturing in Burt’s busy brain that 
night, which he thought would be a master-stroke of policy. 
He was quite aware of the good impression that he had made 
on Miss Hargrove, and he determined that Amy’s wishes should 
be carried out in a sufficient degree at least to prove to her that 
a city belle would not be wholly indifferent to his attentions. 
“ I’ll teach the coy little beauty that others are not so blind as 
she is ; and I imagine that, with Miss Hargrove’s aid, I can dis- 

tirfvher serenity a little before many weeks pass.” 

X) 


MISS HARGROVE. 


309 


CHAPTER XL. 

MISS HARGROVE. 

B UT a few days elapsed before Mr. Clifford, with Burt, 
Maggie, and Amy, made the call which would naturally 
inaugurate an exchange of social visits. Mr. Hargrove was 
especially interested in the old gentleman, and they were at 
once deep in rural affairs. Maggie was a little reserved at first 
with Mrs. Hargrove, but the latter, with all her stateliness, was 
a zealous housekeeper, and so the two ladies were soon en 
rapport. 

The young people adjourned to the piazza, and their merry 
laughter and arfimated talk proved that if there had been any 
constraint it was vanishing rapidly. Amy was’ naturally a little 
shy at first, but Miss Hargrove had the tact to put her guests 
immediately at ease. She proposed to have a good time during 
the remainder of the summer, -and saw in Burt a means to that 
end, while she instinctively felt that she must propitiate Amy in 
order to accomplish her purpose. Therefore she was disposed 
to pay a little court to her on general principles. She had 
learned that the young girl was a ward of Mr. Clifford’s. What 
Burt was to Amy she did not know, but was sure she could soon 
find out, and his manner had led to the belief that he was not 
a committed and art- hedged lover. She made no discov- 
eries, however, " ope to display a real preference 

in public, and re with his scheme, she re- 
ceived his most also both baffled and 

interested her. of this genu- 


3io 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


ine child of nature, whose very simplicity was puzzling. It might 
be the perfection of well-bred reserve, such complete art as to 
appear artless. Miss Margrove had been in society too long 
to take anything impulsively on trust. Still, she was charmed 
with the young girl, and Amy was also genuinely pleased with 
her new acquaintance. Before they parted a horseback ride 
was arranged, at Burt’s suggestion, for the next afternoon. 
This was followed by visits that soon lost all formality, boating 
on the river, other rides, drives, and excursions to points of in- 
terest throughout the region. Webb was occasionally led to 
participate in these, but he usually had some excuse for remain- 
ing at home. He, also, was a new type to Miss Hargrove, “ in- 
digenous to the soil,” she smilingly said to herself, “and a fine 
growth too. With his grave face and ways he makes a splendid 
contrast to his brother.” She found him too reticent for good- 
fellowship, and he gave her the impression also that he knew 
too much about that which was remote from her life and inter- 
ests. At the same time, with her riper experience, she speedily 
divined his secret, to which Amy was blind. “ He could almost 
say his prayers to Amy,” she thought, as she returned after an 
evening spent at the Cliffords’, “ and she doesn’t know it.” 

With all his frankness, Burt’s relations to Amy still baffled 
her. She sometimes thought she saw his eyes following the 
young girl with lover-like fondness, and she also thought that 
he was a little more pronounced in his attentions to her in 
Amy’s absence. Acquaintanceship ripened into intimacy as 
plants matured under the waning suns of July, and the girls 
often spent the night together. Amy was soon beguiled into 
giving her brief, simple history, omitting, of course, all reference 
to Burt’s passionate declaration and his subsequent expectations. 
As far as she herself was concerned, she had no experiences of 
this character to relate, and her *• ' * * much too fine to 

gossip about Burt. Miss Har ,ted Amy’s per- 
fect simplicity as a char e young girl had 

all the refinement ~ end, the absence 


MISS HARGROVE. 


3H 


of certain phases of experience made her companionship all 
the more fascinating and refreshing. It was seen that she had 
grown thus far in secluded and sheltered nooks, and the igno- 
rance that resulted was like morning dew upon a flower. Of 
one thing her friend thought herself assured — Burt had never 
touched Amy’s heart, and she was as unconscious of herself as 
of Webb’s well-hidden devotion. The Clifford family interested 
Miss Gertrude exceedingly, and her innate goodness of heart 
was proved by the fact that she soon became a favorite with 
Mr. and Mrs. Clifford. She never came to the house without 
bringing flowers to the latter — not only beautiful exotics from 
the florists, but wreaths of clematis, bunches of meadow-rue 
from her rambles, and water-lilies and cardinal- flowers from 
boating excursions up the Moodna Creek — and the secluded 
invalid enjoyed her brilliant beauty and piquant ways as if she 
had been a rare flower herself. 

Burt had entered on his scheme with the deepest interest 
and with confident expectations. As time passed, however, he 
found that he could not pique Amy in the slightest degree ; 
that she rather regarded his interest in Miss Hargrove as the 
most natural thing in the world, because she was so interesting. 
Therefore he at last just let himself drift, and was content with 
the fact that the summer was passing delightfully. That Miss 
Hargrove’s dark eyes sometimes quickened his pulse strangely 
did not trouble him ; it had often been quickened before. When 
they were alone, and she sang to him in her rich contralto, and 
he, at her request, added his musical tenor, it seemed perfectly 
natural that he should bend over her towards the notes in a 
way that was not the result of near-sightedness. Burt was 
amenable to other attractions than that of gravitation. 

Webb was the only one not blind to the drift of events. 
While he forbore 1 ' or sign to interfere, he felt that new 
elements were ’ l die problem of the future. He 

drove the fart *' along with a tireless energy 

against which But Webb knew 


312 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


that his most wholesome antidote for suspense and trouble was 
work, and good for all would come of his remedy. He toiled 
long hours in the oat harvest. He sowed seed which promised 
a thousand bushels of turnips. Land foul with weeds, or only 
half subdued, he sowed with that best of scavenger crops, buck- 
wheat, which was to be ploughed under as soon as in blossom. 
The vegetable and fruit gardens gave him much occupation, 
also, and the table fairly groaned under the over-abundant sup- 
ply, while Abram was almost daily despatched to the landing or 
to neighboring markets with loads of various produce. The 
rose garden, however, seemed to afford Webb his chief recrea- 
tion and a place of rest, and the roses in Amy’s belt were the 
wonder and envy of all who saw them. His mother sometimes 
looked at him curiously, as he still brought to her the finest 
specimens, and one day she said : “ Webb, I never knew even 
you to be so tireless before. You are growing very thin, and 
you are certainly going beyond your strength, and — forgive 
me — you seem restlessly active. Have you any trouble in 
which mother can help you? ” 

“ You always help me, mother,” he said, gently; “but I have 
no trouble that requires your or any one’s attention. I like to 
be busy, and there is much to do. I am getting the work well 
along, so that I can take a trip in August, and not leave too 
much for Leonard to look after.” 

August came, and with it the promise of drought, but he and 
his elder brother had provided against it. The young trees had 
been well mulched while the ground was 'moist, and deep, 
thorough cultivation rendered the crops safe unless the rainless 
period should be of long duration. 

Already in the rustling foliage there were whisperings of 
autumn. . The nights grew longer, and «^re filled with the 
sounds of insect life. The robins " r im about the 

house, and were haunting dis + ing as wild as 

they had formerly been of bird song 

was over for the ye a languid and 


MISS HARGROVE. 


313 


desultory way occasionally, and the smaller warblers sometimes 
gave utterance to defective strains, but the- leaders of the 
feathered chorus, the thrushes, were silent. The flower-beds 
flamed with geraniums and salvias, and were gay with gladioli, 
while Amy and Mrs. Clifford exulted in the extent and variety 
of their finely quilled and rose-like asters and dahlias. The 
foliage of the trees had gained its darkest hues, and the days, 
passed, one so like another that nature seemed to be taking a 
summer siesta. 


314 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XL! 


A FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


DAY in August can be as depressing as a typical one in 



ITjL May is inspiring, or in June entrancing. As the season 
advanced Nature appeared to be growing languid and faint. 
There was neither cloud by day nor dew at night. The sun 
burned rather than vivified the earth, and the grass and herbage 
withered and shrivelled before its unobstructed rays. The foli- 
age along the roadsides grew dun-colored from the dust, and 
those who rode or drove on thoroughfares were stifled by the 
irritating clouds that rose on the slightest provocation. Pleas- 
ure could be found only on the unfrequented lanes that led to 
the mountains or ran along their bases. Even there trees that 
drew their sustenance from soil spread thinly on the rocks were 
seen to be dying, their leaves not flushing with autumnal tints, 
but hanging limp and bleached, as if they had exhaled their 
vital juices. The moss beneath them, that had been softer to 
the tread than a Persian rug, crumbled into powder under the 
foot. Alf went to gather huckleberries, but, except in moist 
and swampy places, found them shrivelled on the bushes. 
Even the corn leaves began to roll on the uplands, and Leon- 
ard shook his head despondingly. Webb’s anxieties, however, 
were of a far deeper character, and he was philosophical enough 
to average the year’s income. If the cows did come home 
hungry from their pasture, there yw **ne of hay and 

green-corn fodder to carry them skies should 

become more propitio 1 ' ( an unfailing 


A FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


315 


spring upon the place, and from this a large cask on wheels 
was often filled, and was then drawn by one of the quiet farm- 
horses to the best of the flower beds, the young trees, and to 
such products of the garden as would repay for the expenditure 
of time and labor. The ground was never sprinkled so that tlm 
morning sun of the following day would drink up the moisture, 
but so deluged that the watering would answer for several days. 
It was well known that partial watering does only harm. Nature 
can be greatly assisted at such times, but it must be in accord- 
ance with her laws. The grapevine is a plant that can endure 
an unusual degree of drought, and the fruit will be all the 
earlier and sweeter for it. An excellent fertilizer for the grape 
is suds from the laundry, and by filling a wide, shallow basin, 
hollowed out from the earth around the stems, with this alkaline 
infusion, the vines were kept in the best condition. The clus- 
ters of the earlier varieties were already beginning to color, and 
the season insured the perfect ripening of those fine old kinds, 
the Isabella and Catawba, that too often are frost-bitten before 
they become fit for the table. 

Thus it would appear that Nature has compensations for her 
worst moods — greater compensations than are thought of by 
many. Drought causes the roots of plants and trees to strike 
deep, and so extends the range of their feeding-ground, and 
anchors vegetation of all kinds more firmly in the soil. 

Nevertheless, a long dry period is always depressing. The 
bright green fades out of the landscape, the lawns and grass- 
plots become brown and sear, the air loses its sweet, refreshing 
vitality, and is often so charged with smoke from forest-fires, 
and impalpable dust, that respiration is not agreeable. Apart 
from considerations of profit and loss, the sympathy of the 
Clifford household was. too deep with Nature to permit the in- 
difference of those w^nse garden is the market stall and the 
florist’s greenho" ’ om vistas in hotel parlors and 

piazzas are the 

u It seems to 1 


* the dinner-table one 


3i 6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


day, “ that droughts are steadily growing more serious and fre- 
quent.” 

“They are,” replied his father. “While I remember a few 
in early life that were more prolonged than any we have had of 
late years, they must have resulted from exceptional causes, for 
we usually had an abundance of rain, and did not suffer as we 
do now from violent alternations of weather. There was one 
year when there was scarcely a drop of rain throughout the 
summer. Potatoes planted in the late spring were found in the 
autumn dry and unsprouted. But such seasons were exceed- 
ingly rare, and now droughts are the rule.” 

“ And the people are chiefly to blame for them,” said Webb. 
“ We are suffering from the law of heredity. Our forefathers 
were compelled to fell the trees to make room for the plough, 
and now one of the strongest impulses of the average American 
is to cut down a tree. Our forests, on which a moist climate 
so largely depends, are treated as if they encumbered the 
ground. The smoke that we are breathing proves that fires are 
ravaging to the north and west of us. They should be per- 
mitted no more than a fire in the heart of a city. The future 
of the country depends upon the people becoming sane on this 
subject. If we will send to the Legislature pot-house politicians 
who are chiefly interested in keeping up a supply of liquor in- 
stead of water, they should be provided with a little primer giv- 
ing the condition of lands denuded of their forests. There is 
scarcely anything in their shifty ways, their blind zeal for what 
the ‘deestrict’ wants to-day, regardless of coming days, that 
so irritates me as their stupidity on this subject. A man who 
votes against the protection of our forests is not fit for the office 
of road-master. x\fter all, the people are to blame, and their 
children will pay dear for their ignorance and the spirit which 
finds expression in the saying, ‘ After me the deluge ; ’ and 
there will be flood and drought '' * foot of land not 

adapted to cultivation and p?^ ,r ered with trees. 

Indeed, a great deal of en up to forests. 


A FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


317 


Tor then what was cultivated would produce far more than could 
be obtained from a treeless and therefore rainless country.” 

“ Bravo, Webb ! ” cried Burt ; “ we must send you to the 
Legisfature.” 

“ How is the evil to be prevented? ” Leonard asked. 



A PASTORAL. 


‘'Primarily by instruction and the formation of public opin- 
ion. The influe ' on the climate should be taught in 

all our schools multiplica tion-table. The 

national and s vl he compelled to look 

beyond the nei* who would 


318 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


have the same power to call out the people to extinguish a for- 
est fire that the sheriff has to collect his posse to put down mob 
violence. In the long-run fire departments in our forest tracts 
would be more useful than the same in cities, for, after all, cities 
depend upon the country and its productiveness. The owners 
of woodland should be taught the folly of cutting everything be- 
fore them, and of leaving the refuse brush to become like tin- 
der. The smaller growth should be left to mature, and the 
brush piled and burned in a way that would not involve the 
destruction of every sprout and sapling over wide areas. As it 
is, we are at the mercy of every careless boy, and such vagrants 
as Lumley used to be before Amy woke him up. It is said — 
and with truth at times, I fear — that the shiftless mountaineers 
occasionally start the fires, for a fire means brief high-priced 
labor for them, and afterwards an abundance of whiskey.” 

Events furnished a practical commentary on Webb’s words. 
Miss Hargrove had come over to spend the night with Amy, 
and to try some fine old English glees that she had obtained 
from her city home. They had just adjourned from the supper- 
table to the piazza when Lumley appeared, hat in hand. He 
spoke to Leonard, but looked at Amy with a kind of wondering 
admiration, as if he could not believe that the girl, who looked 
so fair and delicate in her evening dress, so remote from him 
and his surroundings, could ever have given him her hand, and 
spoken as if their humanity had anything in common. 

The Cliffords were inforped that a fire had broken out on a 
tract adjoining their own. “ City chaps was up there gunning 
out o’ season,” Lumley explained, “ and wads from their guns 
must ’a started it.” 

As there was much wood ranked on the Clifford tract, the 
matter was serious. Abram and ol:her farm-hands were sum- 
moned, and the brothers acted as,-^ ninute men in the 

Revolution when the enemv / «r vicinity. The 

young men excused d confusion fol- 
lowed. Burt, ' ' ghtly around his 


A FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


319 


waist, soon dashed up to the front piazza on his horse, and, 
flourishing a rake, said, laughingly, “ I don’t look much like a 
knight sallying forth to battle — do I ? ” 

“You look as if you could be one if the occasion arose,” 
Miss Hargrove replied. 

During the half-jesting badinage that followed Amy stole 
away. Behind the house Webb was preparing to mount, when 
a light hand fell on his shoulder. “You will be careful?” said 
Amy, appealingly. “You don’t seem to spare yourself in any- 
thing. I dread to have you go up into those darkening 
mountains.” 

“ Why, Amy,” he replied, laughing, “ one would think I was 
going to fight Indians, and you feared for my scalp.” 

“ I am not so young and blind but that I can see that you 
are quietly half reckless with yourself,” she replied; and her 
tone indicated that she was a little hurt. 

“I pledge you my word that I will not be reckless to-night ; 
and, after all, this is but disagreeable, humdrum work that we 
often have to do. Don’t worry, little sister. Burt will be there 
to watch over me, you know,” he added. “ By the way, where 
is he? It’s time we were off.” 

“ Oh, he’s talking romantic nonsense to Miss Hargrove. He 
won’t hurt himself. I wish I was as sure of you, and I wish I 
had more influence over you. I’m not such a very little sister, 
even if I don’t know enough to talk to you as you would like ; ” 
and she left him abruptly. 

He mastered a powerful impulse to spring from his horse and 
call her back. A moment’s thought taught him, however, that 
he could not trust him*'-’" ay a word, and he rode 

rapidly away. 

“ I must be mi f 
chance for us I 
words the half 
in the little 
“She’s jeak 


320 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


viction gave him little comfort. Burt soon overtook him, and 
their ride was comparatively silent, for each was busy with his 
own thoughts. Lumley was directed to join them at the fire, and 
then was forgotten by all except Amy, who, by a gentle urgency, 
induced him to go to the kitchen and get a good supper. Be- 
fore he departed she slipped a bank-note into his hand with 
which to buy a dress for the baby. Lumley had to pass more 
than one groggery on his way to the mountains, but the money 
was as safe in his pocket as it would have been in Amy’s. 

“ I swow ! I could say my prayers to her ! ” he soliloquized, 
as he hastened through the gathering darkness with his long, 
swinging stride. “ I didn’t know there was sich gells. She’s 
never lectured me once, but she jest smiles and looks a feller 
into bein’ a man.” 

Miss Hargrove had noted Amy’s influence over the moun- 
taineer, and she asked for an explanation. Amy, in a very 
brief, modest way, told of her visits to the wretched cabin, and 
said, in conclusion : “ I feel sorry for poor Lumley. The fact 
that he is trying to do better, with so much against him, proves 
what he might have been. That’s one of the things that trouble 
me most, as I begin to think and see a little of life : so many 
people have no chance worth speaking of.” 

“ The thing that ought to trouble me most is, I suppose, that 
those who have a chance do so little for such people. Amy,” 
she added, sadly, after a moment’s thought, “ I’ve had many 
triumphs over men, but none like yours ; and I feel to-night as 
if I could give them all to see a man look at me as that poor 
fellow looked at you. It errateful homage of a human 

1 to whom you 1 *hat in a dim way was 

' remember in my 
d myself selfishly 
’ no one is the 

"I’m the 
nad a morbid 


A FIRE IN. THE MOUNTAINS. 


321 


horror of fashionable society, and this accounts for my being 
so unsophisticated. With all your experience of such society, 
I have perfect faith in you, and could trust you implicitly.’ ’ 

“Have you truly faith in me?” (and Amy thought she had 
never seen such depth and power in human eyes as in those of 
Miss Hargrove, who encircled the young girl with her arm, and 
looked as if seeking to detect the faintest doubt) . 

“Yes,” said Amy, with quiet emphasis. 

Miss Hargrove drew a long breath, and then said: “That 
little word may do me more good than all the sermons I ever 
heard. Many would try to be different if others had more 
faith in them. I think that is the secret of your power over 
the rough man that has just gone. You recognized the good 
that was in him, and made him conscious of it. Well, I must 
try to deserve your trust.” Then she stepped out on the dusky 
piazza, and sighed, as she thought : “ It may cost me dear. 
She seemed troubled at my words to Burt, and stole away as if 
she were the awkward third person. I may have misjudged 
her, and she cares for him after all.” 

Amy went to the piano, and played softly until summoned 
without by an excited exclamation from her friend. A line of 
fire was creeping towards them around a lofty highland, and it 
grew each moment more and more distinct. “Oh, I know 
from its position that it’s drawing near our tract,” cried Amy. 
“ If it is so bright to us at this distance, it must be almost terri- 
ble to those near by. I suppose they are all up there just in 
front of it, and Burt is so reckless.” She was about to say 
Webb, but, because of some unrecognized impulse, she did not. 
The utterance of Burt’s name, however, was not lost on Miss 
Hargrove. 

For a long time * 

each, in imagin 
smoke, and sen- 
as the destroy* 
to them, v 


322 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


feared that they both had the same form in mind. She was 
not a girl to remain long unconscious of her heart’s inclina- 
tions, and she knew that Burt Clifford had quickened her pulses 
as no man had ever done before. This very fact made her less 
judicial, less keen, in her insight. If he was so attractive to 
her, could Amy be indifferent to him after months of compan- 
ionship ? She had thought that she understood Amy thoroughly, 
but was beginning to lose faith in her impression. While in 
some respects Amy was still a child, there were quiet depths in 
her nature of which the young girl herself was but half con- 
scious. She often lapsed into long reveries. Webb’s course 
troubled her. Never had he been more fraternal in his manner, 
but apparently she was losing her power to interest him, to lure 
him away from the material side of life. “ I can’t keep pace with 
him,” she sighed ; “ and now that he has learned all about my 
little range of thoughts and knowledge, he finds that I can be 
scarcely more to him than Johnnie, whom he pets in much the 
same spirit that he does me, and then goes to his work or books 
and forgets us both. He could help me so much, if he only 
thought it worth his while ! I’m sure I’m not contented to be 
ignorant, and many of the things that he knows so much about 
interest me most.” 

Thus each girl was busy with her thoughts, as they sat in the 
warm summer night and watched the vivid line draw nearer. 
Mr. Clifford and Maggie came out from time to time, and were 
evidently disturbed by the unchecked progress of the fire. Alf 
had gone with his father, and anything like a conflagration so 
terrified Johnnie that she dared not leave her mother’s lighted 
room. 

^"ddenlv the ^ lim, was broken, and 

sappeared utterly, 
hey have got the 
ct.” 


Hargrove 


A FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS . ' 


323 


“ The boys will soon be here, and they can give you a more 
graphic account than I. Mother is a little excited and troubled, 
as she always is when her great babies are away on such affairs, 
so I must ask you to excuse me.” 

In little more than half an hour a swift gallop was heard, and 
Burt soon appeared, in the light of the late-rising moon. “ It’s 
all out,” he exclaimed. “ Leonard and Webb propose remain- 
ing an hour or two longer, to see that it does not break out 
again. There’s no need of their doing so, for Lumley promised 
to watch till morning. I’m not fit to be seen. If you’ll wait 
till I put on a little of the aspect of a white man, I’ll join you.” 
He had been conscious of a feverish impatience to get back to 
the ladies, having carefully, even in his thoughts, employed the 
plural, and he had feared that they might have retired. 

Miss Hargrove exclaimed : “ How absurd ! You wish to go 
and divest yourself of all picturesqueness ! I’ve seen well- 
dressed men before, and would much prefer that you should 
join us as you are. We can then imagine that you are a bandit 
or a frontiersman, and that your rake was a rifle, which you had 
used against the Indians. We are impatient to have you tell us 
how you fought the fire.” 

He gave but scant attention to Thunder that night, and soon 
stepped out on the moonlit piazza, his tall, fine figure outlined 
to perfection in his close-fitting costume. 

“ You will, indeed, need all your imagination to make any- 
thing of our task to-night,” he said. “ Fighting a mountain fire 
is the most prosaic of hard work. Suppose the line of fire com- 
ing down towards me from where you are sitting.” As yet un- 
known to him, a certain c ’^as originating in that 

direction. “We sim^ 't so that we 

may have time to r 
of the fire, clear 
fo hollow out 
when the 
burn, and s 


324 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


work, and it must be done rapidly, but you can see that all the 
heroic elements which you may have associated with our expedi- 
tion are utterly lacking.” 

“ Well, no matter. Amy and I have had our little romance, 
and have imagined you charging the line of fire in imminent 
danger of being strangled with smoke, if nothing worse.” 

Amy soon heard Maggie bustling about, preparing a midnight 
lunch for those who would come home hungry as well as weary, 
and she said that she would go and try to help. To Burt this 
seemed sufficient reason for her absence, but Miss Hargrove 



AN UPLAND LEDGE. 


thought, Perhaps she saw that his eyes were fixed chiefly on 
me as he gave his description. I wish I knew just how she 
feels towards him ! ” 

But the temptation to remain in the witching moonlight was 
too strong to be resisted. His mellow tones were a music that 
she had never J - eyes grew lustrous with 

ch she was not sure 
s on him also, and 
*** heard playing 
again ! ” 
.lot a little 
Enxt lighted 


A FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


325 


a cigar, in the hope that the girls would again join him, but 
Leonard, Webb, and Alf returned sooner than they were ex- 
pected, and all speedily sat down to their unseasonable repast. 
To Amy’s surprise, Webb was the liveliest of the party, but he 
looked gaunt from fatigue — so worn, indeed, that he reminded 
her of the time when he had returned from Burt’s rescue. But 
there was no such episode as had then occurred before they 
parted for the night, and to this she now looked back wistfully. 
He rose before the others, pleaded fatigue, and went to his 


room. 


326 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XLII. 


CAMPING OUT. 


HEY all gathered at a late breakfast, and the surface cur- 



l rent of family and social life sparkled as if there were no 
hidden depths and secret thoughts. Amy’s manner was not 
cold towards Webb, but her pride was touched, and her feel- 
ings were a little hurt. While disposed to blame herself only 
that she had not the power to interest him and secure has com- 
panionship, as in the past, it was not in human nature to re- 
ceive with indifference such an apparent hint that he was far 
beyond her. “ It would be more generous in Webb to help 
than to ignore me because I know so little,” she thought. 
“Very well : I can have a good time with Burt and Gertrude 
until Webb gets over his hurry and pre-occupation ; ” and with 
a slight spirit of retaliation she acted as if she thoroughly en- 
joyed Burt’s lively talk. 

The young fellow soon made a proposition that caused a 
general and breezy excitement. “ There never was a better 
time than this for camping out,” he said. “The ground is dry, 
and there is scarcely any dew. I can get two large wall tents. 
Suppose we go up and spend a few days on our mountain tract ? 
Maggie could cb^ 1 T’ V e no doubt that Dr. 


Maggie was in- 


le and her 
:ame the 
along with 


CAMPING OUT. 


327 


the servants, they said, and a little outing would do Maggie 
good. Leonard, who had listened in comparative silence, 
brought his wife to a decision by saying : “ You had better go, 
Maggie. You will have all the housekeeping you want on the 
mountain, and I will go back and forth every day and see that 
all’s right. It’s not as if you were beyond the reach of home, 
for you could be here in an hour were there need. Come now, 
make up your mind for a regular lark. It will do you good.” 

The children were wild with delight at the prospect, and Miss 
Hargrove and Amy scarcely less pleased. The latter had fur- 
tively watched Webb, who at first could not disguise a little 
perplexity and trouble at the prospect. But he had thought 
rapidly, and felt that a refusal to be one of the party might 
cause embarrassing surmises. Therefore he also soon became 
zealous in his advocacy of the plan. He felt that circumstances 
were changing and controlling his action. He had fully re- 
solved on an absence of some weeks, but the prolonged drought 
and the danger it involved — the Cliffords would lose at least a 
thousand dollars should a fire sweep over their mountain tract 
— made it seem wrong for him to leave home until rain insured 
safety. Moreover, he believed that he detected symptoms in 
Burt which, with his knowledge of his brother, led to hopes 
that he could not banish. An occasional expression in Miss 
Hargrove’s dark eyes, also, did not tend to lessen these hopes. 
“The lack of conventionality incident to a mountain camp,” 
he thought, “ may develop matters so rapidly as to remove my 
suspense. With all Amy’s gentleness, she is very sensitive and 
proud, and Burt cannot go much farther with Miss Hargrove 
without so awakening her pride as to render futile all efforts to 
retrieve himself. After all, Miss Hargrove, perhaps, would suit 
him far better than Amy. They are both fond of excitement 
and society. Why can’t we all be happy? At least, if the way 
were clear, I would try as no man ever tried to win Amy, and I 
should be no worse off than I am if I failed in the attempt.” 

These musings were rather remote from his practical words, 


328 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


for he had taken pains to give the impression that their wood- 
land would be far safer for the proposed expedition, and Amy 
had said, a little satirically, “We are now sure of Webb, since 
he can combine so much business with pleasure.” 

He only smiled back in an inscrutable way. 

Musk-melons formed one of their breakfast dishes, and Miss 
Hargrove remarked, “ Papa has been exceedingly annoyed by 
having some of his finest ones stolen.” 

Burt began laughing, and said : “ He should imitate my tac- 
tics. Ours were stolen last year, and as they approached 
maturity, some time since, I put up a notice in large black 
letters, ‘ Thieves, take warning : be careful not to steal the 
poisoned melons.’ Hearing a dog bark one night about a 
week ago, I took a revolver and went out. The moonlight was 
clear, and there, reading the notice, was a group of ragamuffin 
boys. Stealing up near them, behind some shrubbery, I fired 
my pistol in the air, and they fairly tumbled over each other in 
their haste to escape. We’ve had no trouble since, I can assure 
you. I’ll drive you home this morning, and, with your father’s 
permission, will put up a similar notice in your garden. We 
also must make our arrangements for camping promptly. This 
weather can’t last much longer. It surely will not if our moun- 
tain experience makes us wish it would;” and, full of his 
projects, he hastened to harness Thunder to his light top- 
wagon. 

He might have taken the two- seated carriage, and asked 
Amy to accompany them, but it had not occurred to him to do 
so, especially as he intended to drive on rapidly to Newburgh 
to make arrangements for the tents. She felt a little slighted 
and neglected, and Miss Hargrove saw that she did, but thought 
that any suggestion of a different arrangement might lead to 
embarrassment. She began to think, with Webb, that the 
camping experience would make everything clearer. At any 
rate, it promised so much unhackneyed pleasure that she 
resolved to make the most of it, and then decide upon her 


CAMPING OUT. 


329 


course. She was politic, and cautioned Burt to say nothing until 
she had first seen her father, for she was not certain how her 
stately and conventional mother would regard the affair. She 
pounced upon Mr. Hargrove in his library, and he knew from her 
preliminary caresses that some unusual favor was to be asked. 

“Come,” he said, “you wily little strategist, what do you 
want now? Half of my kingdom?” 

She explained rather incoherently. 

His answer was unexpected, for he asked, “Js Mr. Burt 
Clifford in the parlor?” 

“No,” she replied, faintly; “he’s on the piazza.” Then, 
with unusual- animation, she began about the melons. Her 
father’s face softened, and he looked at her a little humorously, 
for her flushed, handsome face would disarm a Puritan. 

“You are seeing a great deal of this young Mr. Clifford,” he 
said. 

Her color deepened, and she began, hastily, “ Oh, well, 
papa, I’ve seen a good deal of a great many gentlemen.” 

“Come, come, Trurie, no disguises with me. Your old 
father is not so blind as you think, and I’ve not lived to my 
time of life in ignorance of the truth that prevention is better 
than cure. Whether you are aware of it or not, your eyes have 
revealed to me a growing interest in Mr. Clifford.” 

She hid her face upon his shoulder. 

“He is a comparatively poor man, I suppose, and while I 
think him a fine fellow, I’ve seen in him no great aptness for 
business. If I saw that he was no more to you than others 
who have sought your favor, I would not say a word, Trurie, 
for when you are indifferent you are abundantly able to take 
care of yourself. I’ve been expecting this. I knew you would 
in time meet some one who would have the power to do more 
than amuse you, and my love, darling, is too deep and vigilant 
to be blind until it is too late to see. You are merely interested 
in Mr. Clifford now. You might become more than interested 
during an experience like the one proposed.” 


330 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ If I should, papa, am I so poor that I have not even the 
privilege of a village girl, who can follow her heart? ” 

“ My advice would be,” he replied, gently, “ that you guide 
yourself by both reason and your heart. This is our secret 
council-chamber, and one is speaking to you who has no 
thought but for your lasting happiness.” 

She took a chair near him, and looked into his eyes, as she 
said, thoughtfully and gravely : “ I should be both silly and 
unnatural, did I not recognize your motive and love. I know 
I am not a child any longer, and should have no excuse for 
any school-girl or romantic folly. You have always had my 
confidence ; you would have had it in this case as soon as there 
was anything to tell. I scarcely understand myself as yet, but 
must admit that I am more interested in Mr. Clifford than in 
any man I ever met, and, as you said, I also have not reached 
my time of life without knowing what this may lead to. You 
married mamma when she was younger than I, and you, too, 
papa, were ‘ a comparatively poor man ’ at the time. I have 
thought a great deal about it. I know all that wealth and fash- 
ionable society can give me, and I tell you honestly, papa, I 
would rather be the happy wife that Maggie Clifford is than 
marry any millionaire in New York. There is no need, how- 
ever, for such serious talk, for there is nothing yet beyond 
congenial companionship, and — Well,” she added, hastily, 
in memory of Amy, “ I don’t believe anything will come of it. 
But I want to go on this expedition. There will probably be 
two married ladies in the party, and so I don’t see that even 
mamma can object. Rest assured I shall never become en- 
gaged to any one without your consent ; that is,” she added, 
with another of her irresistible caresses, “ unless you ' are very 
unreasonable, and I become very old.” 

“ V ery well, Trurie, you shall go, with your mother’s consent, 
and I think I can insure that. As you say, you are no longer 
a child.” And his thought was, “ I have seen enough of life 
to know that it is best not to be too arbitrary in such matters.” 


CAMPING OUT. 


331 


After a moment he added, gravely, “ You say you have thought. 
Think a great deal more before you take any steps which may 
involve all your future.” 

Burt was growing uneasy on the piazza, and feared that Miss 
Hargrove might not obtain the consent that she had counted 
on so confidently. He was a little surprised, also, to find how 
the glamour faded out of his anticipations at the thought of 
her absence, but explained his feeling by saying to himself, 
“ She is so bright and full of life, and has so fine a voice, that 
we should miss her sadly.” He was greatly relieved, therefore, 
when Mr. Hargrove came out and greeted him courteously. 
Gertrude had been rendered too conscious, by her recent inter- 
view, to accompany her father, but she soon appeared, and no 
one could have imagined that Burt was more to her than an 
agreeable acquaintance. Mrs. Hargrove gave a reluctant con- 
sent, and it was soon settled that they should try to get off on 
the afternoon of the following day. Burt also included in the 
invitation young Fred Hargrove, and then drove away elated. 

At the dinner-table he announced his success in procuring 
the tents, and his intention of going for them in the afternoon. 
At the same time he exhorted Leonard and Maggie to prepare 
provisions adequate to mountain appetites, adding, “ Webb, I 
suppose, will be too busy to do more than join us at the last 
moment.” 

Webb said nothing, but disappeared after dinner. As he was 
at supper as usual, no questions were asked. Before it was light 
the next morning Amy thought she heard steps on the stairs, 
and the rear hall-door shut softly. When finally awaking, she 
was not sure but that her impression was a dream. As she 
came down to breakfast Burt greeted her with dismay. 

“ The tents, that I put on the back piazza, are gone,” he 
said. 

“ Where is Webb?” was her quick response. 

No one had seen him, and it was soon learned that a horse 
and a strong wagon were also missing. 


332 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ Ah, Burt,” cried Amy, laughing, “rest assured Webb has 
stolen a march on you, and taken his own way of retaliation 
for what you said at the dinner- table yesterday. He was away 
all the afternoon, too. I believe he has chosen a camping- 
ground, and the tents are standing on it.” 

“ He should have remembered that others might have some 
choice in the matter,” was the discontented reply. 

“ If Webb has chosen the camping-ground, you will all be 
pleased with it,” said his mother, quietly. “ I think he is 
merely trying to give a pleasant surprise.” 

He soon appeared, and explained that, with Lumley’s help, he 
had made some preparations, since any suitable place, with water 
near, from which there was a fine outlook, would have seemed 
very rough and uninviting to the ladies unless more work was done 
than could be accomplished in the afternoon of their arrival. 

“Now I think that is very thoughtful of you, Webb,” said 
Amy. “ The steps I heard last night were not a dream. At 
what unearthly hour did you start? ” 

“ Was I so heavy-footed as to disturb you ? ” 

“ Oh, no, Webb,” she said, with a look of comic distress, in 
which there was also a little reproach ; “ it’s not your feet that 
disturb me, but your head. You have stuffed it so full of learn- 
ing that I am depressed by the emptiness of mine.” 

He laughed, as he replied, “ I hope all your troubles may 
be quite as imaginary.” Then he told Leonard to spend the 
morning in ( helping Maggie, who would know best what was 
needed for even mountain housekeeping, and said that he would 
see to farm matters, and join them early in the evening. The 
peaches were ripening, and Amy, from her window, saw that he 
was taking from the trees all fit for market ; also that Abram, 
under his direction, was busy with the watering-cart. “ Words 
cannot impose upon me,” she thought, a little bitterly. “ He 
knows how I long for his companionship, and it’s not a little 
thing to be made to feel that I am scarcely better qualified for 
it than Johnnie.” 


CAMPING OUT. 


333 


Burt galloped over to Dr. Marvin’s, who promised to join 
them, with his wife, on the following day. He had a tent which 
he had occasionally used in his ornithological pursuits. 

At two in the afternoon a merry party started for the hills. 
All the vehicles on the farm had been impressed into the service 
to bring up the party, with chairs, cooking-utensils, provisions, 
bedding, etc. When they reached the ground that Webb had 
selected, even Burt admitted his pleased surprise. The outlook 
over the distant river, and a wide area of country dotted with 
villages, was superb, while to the camp a home-like look had 
already been given, and the ladies, with many mental encomi- 
ums, saw how secluded and inviting an aspect had been im- 
parted to their especial abode. As they came on the scene, 
Lumley was finishing the construction of a dense screen of ever- 
green boughs, which surrounded the canvas to the doorway. 
Not far away an iron pot was slung on a cross-stick in gypsy 
style, and it was flanked by rock-work fireplaces which Maggie 
declared were almost equal to a kitchen range. The men’s tent 
was pitched at easy calling distance, and, like that of the ladies, 
was surrounded by a thick growth of trees, whose shade would 
be grateful. A little space had been cleared between the two 
tents for a leaf-canopied dining-hall, and a table of boards im- 
provised. The ground, as far as possible, had been cleared of 
loose stones and rubbish. Around the fireplace mossy rocks 
abounded, and were well adapted for picturesque groupings. 
What touched Amy most was a little flower-bed made of the rich 
black mould of decayed leaves, in which were some of her fa- 
vorite flowers, well watered. This did not suggest indifference 
on the part of Webb. About fifty feet from the tents the moun- 
tain shelf sloped off abruptly, and gave the magnificent view 
that has been mentioned. Even Burt saw how much had been 
gained by Webb’s forethought, and frankly acknowledged it. 
As it was, they had no more than time to complete the arrange- 
ments for the night before the sun’s level rays lighted up a scene 
that was full of joyous activity and bustle. The children’s 


334 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


happy voices made the echoes ring, and Fred Hargrove, not- 
withstanding his city antecedents, yielded with delight to the 
love of primitive life that exists in every boy’s heart. Although 
he was a few years older than Alf, they had become friendly 
rivals as incipient sportsmen and naturalists. Amy felt that she 
was coiping close to nature’s heart, and the novelty of it all was 
scarcely less exciting to her than to Johnnie. To little Ned it 
was a place of wonder and enchantment, and he kept them all 
in a mild state of terror by his exploring expeditions. At last 
his father threatened to take him home, and, with this awful 
punishment before his eyes, he put his thumb in his mouth, 
perched upon a rock, and philosophically watched the prepara- 
tions for supper. Maggie was the presiding genius of the occa- 
sion, and looked like the light-hearted girl that Leonard had 
wooed more than a dozen years before. She ordered him 
around, jested with him, and laughed at him in such a piquant 
way that Burt declared she was proving herself unfit for the 
duties of chaperon by getting up a flirtation with her husband. 
Meanwhile, under her supervision, order was evoked from chaos, 
and appetizing odors arose from the fireplace. 

Miss Hargrove admitted to herself that in all the past she 
had never known such hours of keen enjoyment, and she was 
bent on proving that, although a city-bred girl, she could take 
her part in the work as well as in the fun. Nor were her spirits 
dampened by the fact that Burt was often at her side, and that 
Amy did not appear to care. The latter, however, was becom- 
ing aware of his deepening interest in her brilliant friend. As 
yet she was not sure whether it was more than a good-natured 
and hospitable effort to make one so recently a stranger at home 
with them, or a new lapse on his part into a condition of ever- 
enduring love and constancy — and the smile that followed the 
thought was not flattering to Burt. 

A little before supper was ready Maggie asked him to get a 
pail of water. 

“ Come, Miss Gertrude,” he said, “ and I’ll show you the 


CAMPING OUT. 


335 


Continental spring at which the Revolutionary soldiers drank 
more than a hundred years ago;” and she tripped away with 
him, nothing loath. As they re-app£ared, flushed and laughing, 
carrying the pail between them, Amy trilled out, 

“Jack and Jill came up the hill.” 

A moment later, Webb followed them, on horseback, and 
was greeted with acclamations and overwhelmed with compli- 
ments. Miss Hargrove was only too glad of the diversion from 
herself, for Amy’s words had made her absurdly CQnscious for a 
society girl. 

They feasted through the long twilight. Never had green 
corn, roasted in its husks on the coals, tasted so delicious, and 
never before were peaches and cream so ambrosial. Amy made 
it her care that poor Lumley should feast also, but the smile 
with which she served him was the sustenance he most craved. 
Then, as the evening breeze grew chilly, and the night dark- 
ened, lanterns were hung in the trees, the fire was replenished, 
and they sat down, the merriest of merry parties. Even Webb 
had vowed that he would ignore the past and the future, and 
make the most of that camp-fire by the wayside of life. It 
must be admitted, however, that his discovery of Burt and Miss 
Hargrove alone at the spring had much to do with his resolu- 
tion. Stories and songs succeeded each other, until Ned was 
asleep in Maggie’s arms, and Johnnie nodding at her side. In 
re-action from the excitements and fatigues of the day, they all 
early sought the rest which is never found in such perfection as 
in a mountain camp. Hemlock boughs formed the mattresses 
on which their blankets were spread, and soon there were no 
sounds except the strident chirpings of insects and the calls of 
night-birds. 

* There was one perturbed spirit, however, and at last Burt 
stole out and sat by the dying fire. When the mind, is ready 
for impressions, a very little thing will produce them vividly, 
and Amy’s snatch of song about “Jack and Jill ” had awakened 


336 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Burt at last to a consciousness that he might be carrying his 
attentions to Miss Hargrove too far, in view of his vows and 
inexorable purpose of constancy. He assured himself that his 
only object was to have a good time, and enjoy the charming 
society of his new acquaintance. Of course, he was in love 
with Amy, and she was all that he could desire. Perhaps he 
had pursued the wrong tactics. Girls even like Amy were not 
so unsophisticated as they appeared to be, and he felt that he 
was profoundly experienced in such questions, if in nothing 
else. Had not her pride been touched ? and would she not be 
led, by his evident admiration for Miss Hargrove, to believe 
that he was mercurial and not to be depended upon? He had 
to admit to himself that some experiences in the past had 
tended to give him this reputation. “ I was only a boy then,” 
he muttered, with a stern compression of the lips. “ I’ll prove 
that I am a man now ; ” and having made this sublime resolu- 
tion, he slept the sleep of the just. 

All who have known the freshness, the elasticity, the mental 
and physical vigor, with which one springs from a bed of 
boughs, will envy the camping party’s awakening on the follow- 
ing morning. Webb resolved to remain and watch the drift of 
events, for he was growing almost feverish in his impatience for 
more definite proof that his hopes were not groundless. But 
he was doomed to disappointment and increasing doubt. Burt 
began to show himself a skilful diplomatist. He felt that, per- 
haps, he had checked himself barely in time to retrieve his 
fortunes and character with Amy, but he was too adroit to 
permit any marked change to appear in his manner and action. 
He said to himself that he cordially liked and admired Miss 
Hargrove, but he believed that she had enjoyed not a few flirta- 
tions, and was not averse to the addition of another to the list. 
Even his self-complacency had not led him to think that she 
regarded him in any other light than that of a very agreeable 
and useful summer friend. He had seen enough of society to 
be aware that such temporary friendships often border closely 


CAMPING OUT. 


337 


on the sentimental, and yet with no apparent trace remaining 
in after-years. To Amy, however, such affairs would not appear 
in the same light as they might to Miss Hargrove, and he felt 
that he had gone far enough. But not for the world would he 
be guilty of gaucherie , of neglecting Miss Hargrove for osten- 
tatious devotion to Amy. Indeed, he was more pronounced in 
his admiration than ever, but in many little and unobtrusive 
ways he tried to prove to Amy that she had his deeper thoughts. 
She, however, was not at this time disposed to dwell upon the 
subject. His manner merely tended to confirm the view that 
he, like herself, regarded Miss Hargrove as a charming addition 
to their circle, and proposed that she should enjoy herself 
thoroughly while with them. Amy also reproached herself a 
little that she had doubted him so easily, and felt that he was 
giving renewed proof of his good sense. He could be true to 
her, and yet be most agreeable to her friend, and her former ac- 
quiescence in the future of his planning remained undisturbed. 
Webb was more like the brother she wished him to be than he 
had been for a long time. The little flower-bed was an abiding 
re-assurance, and so the present contained all that she desired. 

This was not true of either Webb or Miss Hargrove. The 
former, however, did not lose heart. He thought he knew Burt 
too well to give up hope yet. The latter, with all her experi- 
ence, was puzzled. She speedily became conscious of the ab- 
sence of a certain warmth and genuineness in Burt’s manner and 
words. The thermometer is not so sensitive to heat and cold 
as the intuition of a girl like Miss Hargrove to the mental at- 
titude of an admirer, but no one could better hide her thoughts 
and feelings than she when once upon her guard. 


33 » 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


AN OLD TENEMENT. 


HE few remaining days of August passed, and September 



l came, bringing little suggestion of autumn rains or cool- 
ness. Dr. and Mrs. Marvin had joined them, and the former’s 
interest in every wild creature of Xhe woods became infectious. 
Alf and Fred were his ardent disciples, and he rarely found an 
indifferent listener in Amy. The heat of the day was given up 
to reading and the fashioning of alpenstocks, and the mornings 
and late afternoons to excursions. In one of these they had 
sat down to rest near an immense decaying tree that was hollow 
in parts, and full of holes from the topmost shattered branches 
to the ground. 

“ That,” said the doctor, “ might fitly be called an old tene- 
ment-house. You have no idea how many and various creatures 
may have found a home in it.” 

"He was immediately urged to enumerate its possible inhabit- 
ants in the past, present, and future. 

The doctor, pleased with the conceit of regarding the decay- 
ing tree in this light, began with animation : “ All three of the 
squirrels of this region have undoubtedly dwelt in it. I scarcely 
need do more than mention the well-known saucy red or fox 
squirrel, whose delight is mischief. By the way, we have at 
home two tame robins that before they could fly were tumbled 
out of their nest by one of these ruthless practical jokers. The 
birds come in and out of the house like members of the family. 
The graceful gray squirrel is scarcely less familiar than the red 


AN OLD TENEMENT. 


339 


one. He makes a lively pet, and we have all seen him turning 
the wheel attached to his cage. The curious little flying-squir- 
rel, however, is a stranger even to those to whom he may be a 
near neighbor, for the reason that his habits are chiefly noc- 
turnal. He ventures out occasionally on a cloudy day, but is 
shy and retiring. Thoreau relates an interesting experience 
with one. He captured it in a decayed hemlock stump, where- 
in it had a little nest of leaves, bits of bark, and pine needles. 
It bit viciously at first, and uttered a few ‘ dry shrieks,’ but he 
carried it home. After it had been in his room a few hours it 
reluctantly allowed its soft fur to be stroked. He says it had 
‘ very large, prominent black eyes, which gave it an innocent 
look. In color it was a chestnut ash, inclining to fawn, slightly 
browned, and white beneath. The under edge of his wings ( ?) 
tinged yellow, the upper dark, perhaps black.’ He put it into 
a barrel, and fed it with an apple and shag-bark hickory-nuts. 
The next morning he carried it back and placed it on the 
stump from which it had been taken, and it ran up a sapling, 
from which it skimmed away to a large maple nine feet distant, 
whose trunk it struck about four feet from the ground. This 
tree it ascended thirty feet on the opposite side from Thoreau, 
then, coming into view, it eyed its quondam captor for a mo- 
ment or two, as much as to say 1 good-by.’ Then away it went, 
first raising its head as if choosing its objective point. Thoreau 
says its progress is more like that of a bird than he had been 
led to believe from naturalists’ accounts, or than he could have 
imagined possible in a quadruped. Its flight was not a regular 
descent on a given line. It veered to right and left, avoiding 
obstructions, passed between branches of trees, and flew hori- 
zontally part of the way, landing on the ground at last, over 
fifty-one feet from the foot of the tree from which it sprang. 
After its leap, however, it cannot renew its impetus in the air, 
but must alight and start again. It appears to sail and steer 
much like a hawk when the latter does not flap its wings. The 
little striped chipmunk, no doubt, has heaped up its store of 


340 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


nuts in the hole there that opens from the ground into the tree, 
aad the pretty white-footed mouse, with its large eyes and ears, 
has had its apartment in the decayed recesses that exist in the 
worm-eaten roots. 

“ Opossums and raccoons are well-known denizens of trees, 
and both furnish famous country sports, especially in the South. 
1 ’Possum up de gum-tree, cooney in de hollow,’ is a line from 
a negro ditty that touches a deep chord in the African heart. 
The former is found not infrequently in this region, but the 
Hudson seems to be the eastern boundary of its habitat.” 

“ I took two from a tree in one night,” Burt remarked. 

“ The raccoon’s haunts, however, extend far to the northward, 
and it is abundant in the regions bordering on the Adirondacks, 
though not common in the dense pine woods of the interior. 
They are omnivorous creatures, and often rob nests of eggs and 
young birds, for they are expert climbers. They are fond of 
nuts and fruits, and especially of corn when in the condition of 
a milky pulp. Nor does poultry come amiss. They are also 
eager fishermen, although they are unable to pursue their prey 
under water like the otter and mink. They like to play in 
shallows, and leave no stone unturned in the hope of finding a 
crawfish under it. If fish have been left in land-locked pools, 
they are soon devoured. ’Coon-hunting by the light of the 
harvest-moon has long been one of the most noted of rural 
sports. During this month the corn kernels are in the most 
toothsome state for the ’coon bill of fare, and there are few 
fields near forests where they will not be marauding to-night, 
for they are essentially night prowlers. A ’coon hunt usually 
takes place near midnight. Men, with dogs trained to the 
sport, will repair to a corn-field known to be infested. The 
feasters are soon tracked and treed, then shot, or else the tree 
is felled, when such a snarling fight ensues as creates no little 
excitement. No matter how plucky a cur may be, he finds his 
match in an old ’coon, and often carries the scars of combat to 
his dying day. 



DISREPUTABLE TENANTS. 

door with ease, and soon learn to turn a knob. Alf there could 
not begin to ravage a pantry like a tame ’coon. They will 
devour honey, molasses, sugar, pies, cake, bread, butter, milk — 
anything edible. They will uncover preserve-jars as if Mrs. 
Leonard had given them lessons, and with the certainty of a 
toper uncork a. bottle and get drunk on its contents.” 

“ No pet ’coons, Alf, if you please,” said his mother. 


AN OLD TENEMENT. 34 1 


“ If taken when young, raccoons make amusing pets, and 
become attached to their masters, but they cannot be allowed 
at large, for they are as mischievous as monkeys. Their curios- 
ity is boundless, and they will pry into everything within reach. 
Anything, to be beyond their reach, must be under lock and 
key. They use their fore-paws as hands, and will unlatch a 


342 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ Raccoons share with Reynard his reputation for cunning,” 
the doctor resumed, “ and deserve it, but they do not use this 
trait for self-preservation. They are not suspicious of unusual 
objects, and, unlike a fox, are easily trapped. They hibernate 
during the coldest part of the winter, re-appearing in the latter 
part of February or March. They are fond of little excursions, 
and usually travel in small family parties, taking refuge in hol- 
low trees about daylight. They make their home high up, and 
prefer a hollow limb to the trunk of a tree. Some of those 
half-decayed limbs yonder would just suit them. They have 
their young in April — from four to six — and these little ’coons 
remain with the mother a year. While young they are fair eat- 
ing, but grow tough and rank with age. 

“ Two other interesting animals may have lived in that tree, 
the least weasel and his sanguinary cousin the ermine, or large 
weasel. Both are brown, after the snow finally disappears, and 
both turn white with the first snow-storm.” 

“ Now you are romancing, doctor,” cried Miss Hargrove. 

“Yes,” added Leonard, “tell us that you have caught a 
weasel asleep, and we will, at least, look credulous ; but this 
turning white with the first snow, and brown as soon as the 
snow is gone, is a little off color.” 

“ It’s true, nevertheless,” maintained the doctor, “ although 
I have seen no satisfactory explanation of the changes. They 
not only make their nests in hollow trees, but in the sides of 
banks. Were it not for its hab*t of destroying the eggs and 
young of birds, the least weasel might be regarded as a wholly 
useful creature, for it devours innumerable mice, moles, shrews, 
and insects, and does not attack larger animals or poultry. It 
is so exceedingly lithe and slender that its prey has no chance 
to escape. Where a mouse or a mole can go it can go also, 
and if outrun in the field, it follows the scent of its game like a 
hound, and is as relentless as fate in its pursuit. They are not 
very shy, and curiosity speedily overcomes their timidity. Sit 
down quietly, and they will investigate you with intense ir Merest, 


AN OLD TENEMENT. 


343 


and will even approach rather near in order to see better. Dr. 
Merriam describes one as standing bolt-upright, and eying 
him, with its head bent- at right angles to its slender body. 
After a brief retreat it made many partial advances towards 
him, meanwhile constantly sniffing the air in his direction. I’ve 
no doubt Dr. Merriam would have liked to know the weasel’s 
opinion. They have two or three litters a year, and the nest is 
made of dry leaves and herbage. The mother weasel will 
defend her young at any cost, and never hesitates to sacrifice 
her life in their behalf. She will fasten herself by her sharp 
teeth to the nose of a dog, and teach him that weasel-hunting 
has some drawbacks. 

“ In its next of kin, the ermine, or large weasel, we have per- 
haps the most cruel and bloodthirsty animal in existence. It is 
among mammals what the butcher-bird is among the feathered 
tribes — an assassin, a beautiful fiend. It would seem that 
nature reproduces among animals and plants every phase of 
human character. Was it Nero or Caligula who said, ‘ Oh, that 
Rome had but one neck, that I might sever it ’ ? Such is the 
spirit that animates the ermine. Its instinct to kill is so strong 
that, were it possible, it would destroy the means of its subsist- 
ence. It would leave none of its varied prey alive. The lion 
and even the man-eating tiger, when gorged, are inert and 
quiet. They kill no more than they want for a meal ; but the 
ermine will attack a poultry-yard, satiate itself with the brains 
of the fowls or by sucking their blood, and then, out of * pure 
cussedness,’ will kill all the rest within reach. Fifty chickens 
have been destroyed in a night by one of these remorseless 
little beasts. It makes fearful' ravages among grouse, -rabbits, 
and hares. It is the mythical vampire embodied. It is not 
very much larger than the least weasel, and has the same long, 
lithe, slender body and neck. A gray squirrel would look 
bulky beside one, but in indomitable courage and pitiless 
ferocity I do not think it has an equal. Only lack of material 
or bodily fatigue suspends its bloody work, and its life is one 


344 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


long career of carnage. It has a terrific set of teeth, which are 
worked by most powerful muscles. Dr. Coues, an eminent nat- 
uralist, has given a graphic account of him. His words, as I 
remember them, are a true portrait of a murderer. ‘ His fore- 
head is low, and nose sharp ; his eyes are small, penetrating, 
cunning, and glitter with an angry green light. His fierce face 
surmounts a body extraordinarily wiry, lithe, and muscular, 
which ends in a singularly long, slender neck that can be lifted 
at right angles with the body. When he is looking around, his 
neck stretched up, his flat, triangular head bent forward, sway- 
ing to and fro, we have the image of a serpent.’ 

“ This is a true picture of the ermine when excited or angry ; 
when at rest,* and in certain conditions of his fur, there are few 
more beautiful, harmless, innocent-looking creatures. Let one 
of the animals on which he preys approach, however, and in- 
stantly he becomes a demon. In the economy of nature he 
often serves a very useful purpose. In many regions field-mice 
are destructive. The ermine is their deadliest foe. A rat will 
fight a man, if cornered, but it gives up at once in abject terror 
when confronted by the large weasel. This arch-enemy has a 
pride in his hunting, and when taking up his quarters in a barn 
will collect in one place all the rats and mice he kills. Some- 
times a hundred or more have been found together as the result 
of two or three nights’ work. The ermine hunts, however, both 
by day and night, and climbs trees with great facility. He is 
by no means shy, and one has been known to try to kill chickens 
in a coop when a man was standing near him. Hunger was not 
his motive, for he had destroyed, dozens of fowls the night 
before. The ermine has been used successfully as a ferret. 
Having first filed the creature’s teeth down, so that it could 
not kill the game, a gentleman secured twelve live rabbits in 
one forenoon. 

“ But it’s getting late, and time we started tentward, and 
yet I’m not through even the list of quadrupeds that may 
have dwelt in our old tenement. There are four species of 



ilriiin 




CAUGHT NAPPING. 







346 NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 

bats to be mentioned, besides moles and shrews, that would 
burrow in its roots if they are as hollow as the branches. There 
are thirteen species of birds, including several very interesting 
families of woodpeckers, that would live in a tree like that, not 
to speak of tree-toads, salamanders, brown tree-lizards, insects 
and slugs innumerable, and black-snakes — ” 


Snakes?” interrupted Burt, incredulously. 

“ Yes, snakes. I once put my hand in a hole for high-holders’ 
eggs, and a big black-snake ran down my back, but not inside 
of my coat, however.” 

“ Please say nothing more about snakes,” cried Amy; and 
she rose decisively, adding, in a low tone : “ Come, Gertrude, 
let us go. The tenants of the old tree that we’ve heard about 


THE WOODPECKER AT HOME. 



AN OLD TENEMENT. 


347 


may be very interesting to naturalists, but some of them are no 
more to my taste than the people in the slums of London.” 

“ You have made our blood run cold with horrors — an agree- 
able sensation, however, to-day,” said Burt, also rising. “Your 
ermine out-Herods Herod. By the way, is not the fur of this 
pitiless beast worn by the highest dignitaries of the legal pro- 
fession?” and he hastened after the girls. 


34& 


NATURE'S SERIAL ST0R1' 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

“but he risked his life?” 

T HE days passed, and the novelty of their mountain life 
began to wane a little. There were agreeable episodes, 
as, for instance, visits from Mr. Clifford, Mr. Hargrove, and the 
Rev. Mr. Barkdale, who were entertained in royal style ; but, 
after all, the camping experience was not, apparently, fulfilling 
the hopes of two of the party. Webb’s doubt and suspense 
had only been increased, and Miss Hargrove was compelled to 
admit to herself that her father’s fears were not groundless. 
She was the life of the party, and yet she was not at rest. Even 
in her dreams there was a minor key of trouble and dread. 
The past few weeks were bringing a revelation. She had read 
novels innumerable ; she had received tender confidences from 
friends. Love had been declared to her, and she had seen its 
eloquent pleading in more than one face ; but she acknowledged 
that she had never known the meaning of the word until, with- 
out her volition, her own heart revealed to her the mystery. 
Reason and will might control her action, but she could no 
more divert her thoughts from Burt Clifford than a flower can 
turn from the sun. She wondered at herself, and was troubled. 
She had supposed that the training of society had brought her 
perfect self-possession, and she had looked forward to a match, 
when she was ready for one, in which the pros and cons should 
be weighed with diplomatic nicety ; but now that her heart was 
touched she learned that nature is supreme, and her whole 
being revolted at such a union as she had contemplated. She 


BUT HE RISKED HIS LIFE? 


349 


saw the basis of true marriage — the glad consent of body and 
soul, and not a calculation. She watched Maggie closely, and 
saw that her life was happy and rounded out in spite of her 
many cares. It was not such a life as she would choose in its 
detail, and yet it was infinitely better than that of many of her 
acquaintances. Burt was no hero in her eyes, but he was im- 
mensely companionable, and it was a companion, not a hero, 
or a man remote from her life and interests, that she desired. 
He was refined and intelligent, if not learned ; low, mean traits 
were conspicuously absent; but, above and beyond all, his 
mirthful blue eyes, and spirited ways and words, set all her 
nerves tingling with a delicious exhilaration which she could 
neither analyze nor control. In brief, the time that, her father 
foresaw had come ; the man had appeared who could do more 
than amuse ; her whole nature had made its choice. She could 
go back to the city, and still in semblance be the beautiful and 
brilliant girl that she had been ; but she knew that in all the 
future few waking hours would pass without her thoughts re- 
verting to that little mountain terrace, its gleaming canvas, its 
gypsy-like fire, with a tall, lithe form often reclining at her feet 
beside it. 

Would the future bring more than regretful memories? As 
time passed, she feared not. 

As Burt grew conscious of himself, his pride was deeply 
touched. He knew that he had been greatly fascinated by Miss 
Hargrove, and, what was worse, her power had not declined 
after he had awakened to his danger ; but he felt that Amy and 
all the family would despise him — indeed, that he would de- 
spise himself — should he so speedily transfer his allegiance ; 
and under the spur of this dread he made especial, though very 
unobtrusive, efforts to prove his loyalty to Amy. Therefore 
Webb had grown despondent, and his absences from the camp 
were longer and more frequent. He pleaded the work of the 
farm, and the necessity of coping with the fearful drought, so 
plausibly that Amy felt that she could not complain, but, after 


350 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


all, there was a low voice of protest in her heart. “ It’s the old 
trouble,” she thought. “ The farm interests him far more than 
I ever can, and even when here his mind is absent.” 

Thus it may be seen that Nature, to whom they had gone, 
was not only busy with the mountain and its life, but that her 
silent forces were also at work in those whose unperverted hearts 
were not beyond her power. 

But there are dark mysteries in Nature, and some of her 
creations appear to be visible and concentrated evil. The 
camping party came very near breaking up in a horrible tragedy. 
The day was growing warm, and they were returning from a 
rather extended excursion, straggling along a steep wood road 
that was partially overgrown with bushes. Burt had been a 
little more attentive to Miss Hargrove than usual, but was now 
at Amy’s side with his ready laugh and jest. Dr. Marvin was 
in the rear, peering about, as usual, for some object of interest 
to a naturalist. Miss Hargrove, so far from succumbing to the 
increasing heat, was reluctant to return, and seemed possessed 
with what might be almost termed a nervous activity. She had 
been the most indefatigable climber of the party, and on their 
return had often diverged from the path to gather a fern or 
some other sylvan trifle. At one point the ascending path 
formed an angle with a ledge of rock that made a little platform. 
At the farther end of this she saw a flower, and she went to get 
it. A moment or two later Burt and Amy heard her scream, 
and the sound of her voice seemed almost beneath them. 
Grasping his alpenstock firmly, Burt sprang through the inter- 
vening copsewood, and witnessed a scene that he never forgot, 
though he paused not a second in his horror. Even as he rushed 
towards her a huge rattlesnake was sending forth the “ long, 
loud, stinging whir” which, as Dr. Holmes says, is “ the dread- 
ful sound that nothing which breathes can hear unmoved.” 
Miss Hargrove was looking down upon it, stupefied, paralyzed 
with terror. Already the reptile was coiling its thick body for 
the deadly stroke, when Burt’s stock fell upon its neck and laid 


BUT HE RISKED HIS LIFE? 


351 


it writhing at the girl’s feet. With a flying leap from thk rock 
above he landed on the venomous head, and crushed it with his 
heel. He had scarcely time to catch Miss Hargrove, when she 
became apparently a lifeless burden in his arms. 

Dr. Marvin now reached him, and after a glance at the scene 
exclaimed, “ Great God ! Burt, she was not bitten ? ” 

“ No ; but let us get away from here. Where there’s one of 
these devils there is usually another not far off;” and they 
carried the unconscious girl swiftly towards the camp, which 
fortunately was not far away, all the others following with dread 
and anxiety in their faces. 

Dr. Marvin’s and Maggie’s efforts soon revived Miss Hargrove, 
but she had evidently received a very severe nervous shock. 
When at last Burt was permitted to see her, she gave him her 
hand with such a look of gratitude, and something more, which 
she could not then disguise, that his heart began to beat 
strangely fast. He was so confused that he could only stammer 
some incoherent words of congratulation ; but he half-con- 
sciously gave her hand a pressure that left the most delicious 
pain the young girl had ever known. He was deeply excited, 
for he had taken a tremendous risk in springing upon a creature 
that can strike its crooked fangs through the thick leather of 
a boot, as a New York physician once learned at the cost of his 
life, when he carelessly sought to rouse with his foot a caged 
reptile of this kind. 

Miss Hargrove had ceased to be a charming summer ac- 
quaintance to Burt. She was the woman at whose side he had 
stood in the presence of death. 

Before their midday repast was ready a rumble of wagons 
was heard coming up the mountain, and Webb soon appeared. 
“The barometer is falling rapidly,” he said, “and father 
agrees with me that it will be safer for you all to return at 
once.” 

He found ready acquiescence, for after the event of the 
morning the ladies were in haste to depart. Lumley, who had 


352 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


come up with Webb, was sent to take the rattles from the snake, 
and the men drew apart, with Alf and Fred, to discuss the ad- 
venture, for it was tacitly agreed that it would be unwise to talk 
about snakes to those whose nerves were already unstrung at 
the thought of such fearful neighbors. Dr. Marvin would have 
gone with Lumley had not his wife interposed. As it was, he 
had much to say concerning the habits and character of the 
reptiles, to which the boys listened with awe. “ By the way,” 
he concluded, “I remember a passage from that remarkable 
story, ‘ Elsie Venner,’ by Oliver Wendell Holmes, in which he 
gives the most vivid description of the rattlesnake I have ever 
seen. One of his characters has two of them in a cage. ‘ The 
expression of the creatures,’ he writes, ‘ was watchful, still, grave, 
passionless, fate-like, suggesting a cold malignity which seemed 
to be waiting for its opportunity. Their awful, deep-cut mouths 
were sternly closed over long, hollow fangs, which rested their 
roots against the swollen poison-gland where the venom had 
been hoarded up ever since the last stroke had emptied it. 
They never winked, for ophidians have no movable eyelids, 
but kept up an awful fixed stare. Their eyes did not flash, but 
shone with a cold, still light. They were of a pale golden color, 
horrible to look into, with their stony calmness, their pitiless in- 
difference, hardly enlivened by the almost imperceptible vertical 
slit of the pupil, through which Death seemed to be looking 
out, like the archer behind the long, narrow loophole in a blank 
turret wall.’ The description is superb, and impressed itself 
so deeply on my mind that I can always recall it.” 

The ladies now joined them at dinner — the last at their rus- 
tic board. Miss Hargrove was very pale, but she was a spirited 
girl, and was bent on proving that there was nothing weak or 
hysterical in her nature. Neither was there the flippancy that 
a shallow woman might have manifested. She acted like a 
brave, well-bred lady, whose innate refinement and good sense 
enabled her speedily to regain her poise, and take her natural 
place among her friends. They all tried to be considerate, and 


“BUT HE RISKED HIS LIFE?" 353 

Amy’s solicitude did not indicate the jealousy that her friend 
almost expected to see. 

Before they had finished their repast an east wind was moan- 
ing and sighing in the trees, and a thin scu4 of clouds over- 
casting the sky. They were soon in the haste and bustle of 
departure. Miss Hargrove found an opportunity, however, to 
draw Dr. Marvin aside, and asked, hesitatingly, 

“ If Burt — if Mr. Clifford had missed his aim when he sprang 
upon the snake, what would have happened ? ” 

“You had better not dwell on that scene for the present, 
Miss Hargrove.” 

“ But I wish to know,” she said, decisively. “ I am not a 
child, and I think I have a right to know.” 

“Well,” said the doctor, gravely, “you are brave about it, 
and may as well know the truth. Indeed, a little thought 
would soon make it clear to you that if he had struck the body 
of the snake and left its head free, it would have bitten him.” 

She drew a long breath, and said, “ I thought as much ; ” 
then added, in a low tone, “ Would it have been death ? ” 

“ Not necessarily ; but only the most vigorous treatment 
could have saved him.” 

“ But he risked his life? ” she persisted. 

“Certainly; but a brave man could scarcely have acted 
otherwise. The snake was at your very feet.” 

“ Thank you,” she said, simply, and there was a very gentle 
expression in her eyes. 

Much of the work of breaking up was left to Lumley, and 
an abundant reward for his labor. He had returned with an 
exultant grin, but at a sign from Dr. Marvin concealed his tro- 
phies. As soon as he had a chance, however, he gave Burt two 
rattles, one having twelve and the other fourteen joints, thus 
proving the fear, that the mate of the snake first killed was not 
far off, to be well grounded. At the foot of the mountain they 
met Mr. Hargrove, driving rapidly. He explained that his 
barometer and the indications* of a storm had alarmed him also, 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


and that he had come for his daughter and Fred. Nothing 
was said of Miss Hargrove’s recent peril in the brief, cordial 
parting. Her eyes and Burt’s met almost involuntarily as she 
was driven away, and he was deeply perturbed. 

The face of Nature was also clouding fast, and she was sigh- 
ing and moaning as if she, too, dreaded the immediate future. 


SUMMER'S WEEPING FAREWELL. 




CHAPTER XLV. 
summer’s weeping farewell. 

N ATURE was at last awakening from her long, death-like 
repose with an energy that was startling. The thin skir- 
mish-line of vapor was followed by cloudy squadrons, and before 
sunset great masses of mist were pouring over Storm King, sug- 
gesting that the Atlantic had taken the drought in hand, and 
meant to see what it could do. The wind mourned and 
shrieked about the house, as if trouble, and not relief, were 
coming. In spite of the young moon, the night grew intensely 
dark. The dash of rain was expected every moment, but it did 
not come. 

Amy thought with a shudder of their desolate camping- 
ground. Time must pass before pleasant associations could be 
connected with it. The intense darkness, the rush and roar of 
the coming storm, the agony, the death that might have occurred 
there, were now uppermost in her mind. She had found an 
opportunity to ask Webb questions similar to those of Miss 
Hargrove, and he had given Burt full credit for taking a fearful 
risk. A woman loves courage in the abstract, and when it is 
shown in behalf of herself or those whom she loves, he who has 
manifested it becomes heroic. But her homage troubled Burt, 
who was all at sea, uncertain of himself, of the future, of almost 
everything, but not quite uncertain as to Miss Hargrove. 
There was something in her look when they first met after their 
common peril that went straight to his deepest consciousness. 
He had before received, with not a little complacency, glances 


356 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


of preference, but none like that, in which a glimpse of feeling, 
deep and strong, had been revealed in a moment of weakness. 
The thought of it moved him far more profoundly than the re- 
membrance of his danger. Indeed, he scarcely thought of that, 
except as it was associated with a girl who now might have 
been dead or dying, and who, by a glance, had seemed to say, 
“ What you saved is yours.” 

If this were true it was indeed a priceless, overwhelming gift, 
and he was terrified at himself as he found how his whole 
nature was responding. He also knew that it was not in his 
frank, impetuous spirit to disguise deep feeling. Should Miss 
Hargrove control his heart, he feared that all would eventually 
know it, as they had speedily discovered his other little affairs. 
And little, indeed, they now seemed to him, relating to girls as 
immature as himself. Some had since married, others were 
engaged, “and none ever lost their appetites,” he concluded, 
with a grim smile. 

But he could not thus dismiss the past so far as Amy was 
concerned, the orphan girl in his own home to whom he had 
promised fealty. What would be his feeling towards another 
man who had promised so much and had proved fickle ? What 
would the inmates of his own home say? What would even his 
gentle mother, of whom he had made a confidante, think of 
him? Would not a look of pain, or, even worse, of scorn, 
come into Amy’s 'eyes? He did love her dearly; he re- 
spected her still more as the embodiment of truth and delicacy. 
From Miss Hargrove’s manner he knew that Amy had never 
gossiped about him, as he felt sure nine tenths of his acquaint- 
ances would have done. He also believed that she was taking 
him at his word, like the rest of the family, and that she was 
looking forward to the future that he had once so ardently de- 
sired. The past had taught him that she was not one to fall 
tumultuously in love, but rather that she would let a quiet and 
steady flame kindle in her heart, to last through life. She had 
proved herself above hasty and resentful jealousy, but she had, 


SUMMER'S WEEPING FAREWELL, 


357 


nevertheless, warned him on the mountain, and had received the 
renewed manifestations of his loyalty as a matter of course. 
Since his rescue of her friend in the morning her eyes had often 
sought his with a lustre so gentle and approving that he felt 
guilty, and cursed himself for a fickle wretch. Cost him what 
it might, he must be true to her. 

She, little divining his tragic mood, which, with the whole 
force of his will, he sought to disguise, gave him an affectionate 
good-night kiss as she said, “ Dear Burt, how happily the day 
has ended, after all ! — and we know the reason why.” 

“ Yes, Burt,” added Webb ; “ no man ever did a braver thing.” 

His father’s hearty praise, and even his mother’s grateful and 
almost passionate embrace, only added to his deep unrest. As 
he went to his room he groaned, “ If they only knew ! ” 

After very little and troubled sleep he awoke on the following 
morning depressed and exhausted. Mental distress was a new 
experience, and he showed its effects ; but he made light of it, 
as the result of over-excitement and fatigue. He felt that 
Nature harmonized with his mood, for he had scarcely ever 
looked upon a gloomier sky. Yet, strange to say, no rain had 
fallen. It seemed as if the malign spell could not be broken. 
The wind that had been whirling the dust in clouds all night 
long grew fitful, and died utterly away, while the parched earth 
and withered herbage appeared to look at the mocking clouds 
in mute, despairing appeal. How could they be so near, so 
heavy, and yet no rain ? The air was sultry and lifeless. Fall 
had come, but no autumn days as yet. Experienced Mr. Clif- 
ford looked often at the black, lowering sky, and predicted that 
a decided change was at hand. 

“ My fear is,” he added, “ that the drought may be followed 
by a deluge. I don’t like the looks of the clouds in the 
southeast.” 

Even as he spoke a gleam of lightning shot athwart them, 
and was soon followed by a heavy rumble of thunder. It 
seemed that the electricity, or, rather, the concussion of the air, 


358 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


precipitated the dense vapor into water, for within a few 
moments down came the rain in torrents. As the first great 
drops struck the roads the dust flew up as if smitten by a blow, 
and then, with scarcely any interval, the gutters and every in- 
cline were full of tawny rills, that swelled and grew with hoarser 
and deeper murmurs, until they combined in one continuous 
roar with the downfall from clouds that seemed scarcely able to 
lift themselves above the tree-tops. The lightning was not 
vivid, but often illumined the obscurity with a momentary dull 
red glow, and thunder muttered and growled in the distance 
almost without cessation. 

The drought had been depressing. To Amy its gloomy, por- 
tentous ending was even more so. The arid noonday heat and 
glare of preceding days had given place to a twilight so un- 
natural that it had Iftmost the awe-inspiring effect of an eclipse. 
The hitherto brazen sky seemed to have become an overhang- 
ing reservoir from which poured a vertical cataract. The 
clouds drooped so heavily, and were so black, that they gave 
an impression of impending solid masses that might fall at any 
moment with crushing weight. Within an hour the beds of 
streams long dry were full and overflowing. 

In spite of remonstrances Webb put on a rubber suit, and 
went to look after some little bridges on the place. He soon 
returned, and said, “ If this keeps up until morning, there will 
be a dozen bridges lacking in our region. I’ve tried to anchor 
some of our little affairs by putting heavy stones on them, so 
that the water will pass over instead of sweeping them away. 
It makes one think that the flood was no myth.” 

To the general relief, the rain slackened in the late afternoon, 
and soon cfeased. The threatening pall of clouds lifted a little, 
and in rocky channels on the mountains the dull gleam of rush- 
ing water could be seen. From every side its voice was heard, 
the scale running up, from the gurgle in the pipes connected 
with the roof, to the roar of the nearest large stream. The 
drought was truly broken. 



SUMMER'S WEEPING FAREWELL. 359 

As the day advanced Burt had grown very restless. Amy 
watched him curiously. The long day of imprisonment had 
given time for thought, and a review of the past novel and ex- 
citing experiences. She had not seen the glances from Miss 


STORMY WEATHER. 

Hargrove which had suggested so much to Burt, but she had 
long since perceived that her friend greatly enjoyed his society. 
Had she loved him she would have seen far more. If this in- 
terest had been shown in Webb, she would have understood 


3 6o 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


herself and Miss Hargrove also much better. Pre-occupied as 
she was by Her sense of loss and shortcoming produced by 
Webb’s apparent absorption in pursuits which she did not 
share, the thought had repeatedly occurred to her that Miss 
Hargrove’s interest in Burt might be more than passing and 
friendly. If this were true, she was sure the event of the pre- 
ceding day must develop and deepen it greatly. And now 
Burt’s manner, his fits of absent-mindedness, during which he 
stared at vacancy, awakened surmises also. “Where are his 
thoughts?” she queried, and she resolved to find out. 

“ Burt,” she said, arousing him from one of the lapses into 
deep thought which alternated with his restless pacings and 
rathe* forced gayety, “ it has stopped raining. I think you 
ought to ride over and see how Gertrude is. I feel real anxious 
about her.” 

His face lighted up with eagerness. “ Do you truly think I 
ought to go?” he asked. 

“ Certainly, and it would be a favor to me also,” she added. 

He looked at her searchingly for a moment, but there was 
nothing in her friendly expression to excite his fears. 

“Very well,” he tried to say quietly. “ I’ll go. A swift gal- 
lop would do me good, I believe.” 

“ Of course it will, and so will a walk brighten me up. I’m 
going out to see the brook.” 

“ Let me go with you,” he exclaimed, with an eagerness too 
pronounced. 

“ No, please. I’d rather hear how Gertrude is ; ” and she 
went to her room to prepare for her walk, smiling a little bitterly 
as she mused : “ I now know where his thoughts were. I must 
be lacking indeed. Not only brother Webb, but also lover Burt, 
has grown weary of me. I can’t entertain either of them through 
one rainy day.” From her window she saw Burt riding away 
with a promptness that brought again the smile rarely seen on 
her fair features. In her light rubber suit, she started on her 
ramble, her face almost as clouded as the sky. Another had 



He saw that she was depressed. He, too, had been inter- 
preting Burt, and guessed his destination as he galloped away. 
His love for Amy was so deep that in a generous impulse of 
self-forgetfulness he was sorry for her, and sought to cheer her, 
and make what poor amends he could for Burt’s absence, and 


SUMMER'S WEEPING FAREWELL. 361 

been on the watch also, and Webb soon joined her, with the 
question, “ May I not go too? ” 

“ Oh, I fear it will take too much of your time,” she said, in 
tones that were a little constrained. 


IN THE GLOAMING. 


362 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


all that it foreboded. “ Since you don’t say outright that I can’t 
go,” he said, “ I think I’ll venture ; ” and then, in a quiet, genial 
way, he began to talk about the storm and its effects. She would 
not have believed that even remarkable weather could be made 
so interesting a topic as it soon proved. Before long they stood 
upon the bank, and saw a dark flood rushing by where but yes- 
terday had trickled a little rill. Now it would carry away horse 
and rider, should they attempt to ford it, and the fields beyond 
were covered with water. 

“ I don’t like these violent changes,” said Amy. ‘1 Tenny- 
son’s brook, that ‘ goes on forever,’ is more to my taste than one 
like this, that almost stops, and then breaks out into a passion- 
ate, reckless torrent.” 

“ It’s the nature of this brook ; you should not blame it,” he 
answered. “ But see, it’s falling rapidly already.” 

“ Oh, certainly ; nothing lasts,” and she turned away abruptly. 

“ You are mistaken, sister Amy,” he replied, with strong, quiet 
emphasis. 

The early twilight deepened around them, and gloomy night 
came on apace, but before Amy re-entered the house his unself- 
ish efforts were rewarded. Burt’s threatened disloyalty appar- 
ently had lost its depressing influence. Some subtile re-assuring 
power had been at work, and the clouds passed from her face, 
if not from the sky. 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


363 


CHAPTER XLVL 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 



HAT sombre day would ever be a memorable one to Miss 


X Hargrove. Nature seemed weeping passionately over the 
summer that had gone, with all its wealth of beauty and life. 
She knew that her girlhood had gone with it. She had cau- 
tioned her brother to say nothing of her escape on the previous 
day, for she was too unnerved to go over the scene again that 
night, and meet her father’s questioning eyes. She wanted to 
be alone first and face the truth ; and this she had done in no 
spirit of weak self-deception. The shadow of the unknown had 
fallen upon her, and in its cold gray light the glitter and tinsel 
of the world had faded, but unselfish human love had grown 
more luminous. The imminence of death had kindled rather 
than quenched it. It was seen to be something intrinsically 
precious, something that might survive even the deadliest 


poison, 


Her father was disposed to regard Burt as one who looked 
upon life in the light of a pleasure excursion, and who might 
never take it seriously. His laugh hereafter could never be so 
light and careless to her but that, like a minor key, would run 
the thought, “ He risked his life for me ; he might have died 
for me.” 

Her dark, full eyes, the warm blood that her thpughts brought 
into her face even in the solitude of her chamber, did not belie 
her nature, which was intense, and capable of a strong and an 
abiding passion when once kindled. 


3<54 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Mr. Hargrove had watched her with the deepest solicitude 
on her return, and he felt rather than saw the change that had 
taken place in his idol. She had pleaded fatigue, and retired 
early. In the morning she was again conscious of his half-ques- 
tioning scrutiny, and when he went to his study she followed, 
and told him what had occurred. He grew very pale, and drew 
a long, deep breath. Then, as if mastered by a strong impulse, 
he clasped her to his heart, and said, in trembling tones, “ Oh, 
Trurie, if I had lost you ! ” 

“ I fear you would have lost me, papa, had it not been for 
Mr. Clifford.” 

He paced the room for a few moments in agitation, and at 
last stopped before her and said : “ Perhaps in a sense I am to 
lose you after all. Has Mr. Clifford spoken? ” 

“ No, papa; he has only risked his life to save mine.” 

“ You are very grateful? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Do not think I underestimate his act, Trurie ; but, believe 
me, if he should speak now or soon, you are in no condition to 
answer him.” 

She smiled incredulously. 

“ He did what any man would do for a woman in peril. He 
has no right to claim such an immense reward.” 

“ Before I went to the mountains I said I was no longer a 
child ; but I was, compared with what I am now. It seems to 
me that feeling, experience, more than years, measures our age. 
I am a woman to-day, one who has been brought so near the 
future world that I have been taught how to value what may be 
ours now. I have learned how to value you and your unselfish 
love as I never did before. Mr. Clifford will not speak very 
soon, if he ever does, and I have not yet decided upon my an- 
swer. Should it be favorable, rest assured more than gratitude 
will prompt me ; and also be assured you would not lose me. 
Could I not be more to you were I happy than if I went 
through life with the feeling that I had missed my chance ? ” 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 365 

“I fear your mother would never give her consent to so 
unworldly a choice,” he said, with a troubled brow. 

“ I’ve yet to be convinced that it would be such a choice. 
It’s scarcely unworldly to make the most and the best of the 
world one is in, and mamma must permit me to judge for 'my- 
self, as she chose for herself. I shall never marry any one but 
a gentleman, and one who can give me a home. Have I not a 
right to prefer a home to an establishment, papa?” 

He looked at her long and searchingly, and she met his scru- 
tiny with a grave and gentle dignity. “I suppose we must 
submit to the inevitable,” he said at last. 

“Yes, papa.” 

“ It seems but the other day that you were a baby on my 
knee,” he began, sadly ; “ and now you are drifting far away.” 

“ No, papa, there shall be no drifting whatever. I shall marry, 
if ever, one whom I have learned to love according to Nature’s 
simple laws — one to whom I can go without effort or calcula- 
tion. I could give my heart, and be made rich indeed by the 
gift. I couldn’t invest it ; and if I did, no one would be more 
sorry than you in the end.” 

“ I should indeed be more than sorry if I ever saw you un- 
happy,” he said, after another thoughtful pause ; then added, 
shaking his head, “ I’ve seen those who gave their hearts even 
more disappointed with life than those who took counsel of 
prudence.” 

“ I shall take counsel of prudence, and of you too, papa.” 

“ I think it is as I feared — you have already given your 
hecfrt.” 

She did not deny it. Before leaving him she pleaded : “ Do 
not make much of my danger to mamma. She is nervous, and 
not over-fond of the country at best. You know that a good 
many people survive in the country,” she concluded, with a 
smile that was so winning and disarming that he shook his head 
at her as he replied : 

“ Well, Trurie, I foresee what a lovingly obstinate little girl 


366 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


you are likely to prove. I think I may as well tell you first as 
last that you may count on me in all that is fairly rational. If, 
with my years and experience, I can be so considerate, may I 
hope that you will be also? ” 

Her answer was re-assuring, and she went to tell her mother 
She had been forestalled. Fred was quite as confidential with 
his mother as she with her father, and the boy had been wild 
to horrify Mrs. Hargrove by an account of his sister’s adven- 
ture. The injunction laid upon him had been only for the 
previous evening, and Gertrude found her mother almost 
hysterical over the affair, and less inclined to commend Burt 
than to blame him as the one who had led her daughter into 
such “ wild, harum-scarum experiences.” “ It’s always the 
way,” she exclaimed, “ when one goes out of one’s own natural 
associations in life.” 

“I’ve not been out of my natural associations,” Gertrude 
answered, hotly. “ The Cliffords are as well-bred and respect- 
able as we are ; ” and she went to her room. 

It was a long, dismal day for her, but, as she had said to 
her father, she would not permit herself to drift. Her nature 
was too positive for idle, sentimental dreaming. Feeling that 
she was approaching one of the crises of her life, she faced it 
resolutely and intelligently. She went over the past \yeeks from 
the time she had first met Burt under the Gothic willow arch, 
and tried to analyze not only the power he had over her, but 
also the man himself. “ I have claimed to papa that I am a 
woman, and I should act like one,” she thought. A few things 
grew plain. Her interest in Burt had been a purely natural 
growth, the unsought result of association with one who had 
proved congenial. He was so handsome, so companionable, 
so vital with spirit and mirthfulness, that his simple presence 
was exhilarating, and he had won his influence like the sun in 
spring-time. Had he the higher qualities of manhood, those 
that could sustain her in the inevitable periods when life would 
be no laughing matter? Could he meet the winter of life as 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


367 


well as the summer? She felt that she scarcely knew him well 
enough to be sure of this, but she was still sufficiently young 
and romantic to think, “ If he should ever love me as I can 
love him, I could bring out the qualities that papa fears are 
lacking.” His courage seemed an earnest of all that she could 
desire. 

Amy’s feeling towards him, and the question whether he had 
ever regarded her in another light than that of a sister, troubled 
her the most. Amy’s assurance of implicit trust, and her prom- 
ise to deserve it, appeared to stand directly in her path, and 
before that stormy day closed she had reached the calmness 
of a fixed resolution. “ If Amy loves him, and he has given 
her reason to do so, I shall not come between them, cost me 
what it may. I’ll do without happiness rather than snatch it 
from a friend who has not only spoken her trust, but proved 
it.” c * 

Therefore, although her heart gave a great bound as she saw 
Burt riding towards the house in the late afternoon, she went 
to her father and said : “ Mr. Clifford is coming. I wish you 
would be present during his call.” 

The young fellow was received cordially, and Mr. Hargrove 
acknowledged his indebtedness so feelingly that Burt flushed 
like a girl, and was greatly embarrassed. He soon recovered 
himself, however, and chatted in his usual easy and spirited 
way. Before he left he asked, hesitatingly, “ Would you like a 
souvenir of our little episode yesterday?” and took from his 
pocket the rattles of the snake he had killed. 

“It was not a little episode,” Gertrude replied, gravely. “I 
shall indeed value the gift, for it will remind me that I have a 
friend who did not count the cost in trying to help me.” 

Impetuous words rose to Burt’s lips, but he checked them 
in time. Trembling for his resolutions, he soon took his 
departure, and rode homeward in deeper disquiet than he had 
ever known. He gave Amy her friend’s messages, and he also, 
in spite of himself, afforded her a clearer glimpse of what was 


368 NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 

passing in his mind than she had received before. “ I might 
have learned to love him in time, I suppose,” she thought, bit- 
terly, “ but it’s impossible now. I shall build my future on no 
such uncertain foundation, and I shall punish him a little too, 
for it’s time he had a lesson.” 


DISQUIET WITHIN AND WITHOUT 369 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

’ DISQUIET WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 

MY would scarcely have been human had she felt other- 



ii wise, for it appeared that Burt was in a fair way to inflict 
a slight that would touch the pride of the gentlest nature. 
During her long residence abroad Amy had in a general and 
unthinking way adopted some English ideas on the subject of 
marriage. Burt had at first required what was unnatural and 
repugnant, and she had resented the demand that she should 
pass from an age and a state of feeling slightly removed from 
childhood to relations for which she was not ready. When he 
had sensibly recognized his error, and had appeared content to. 
wait patiently and considerately, she had tacitly assented to his 
hopes and those of his parents. Her love and gratitude towards 
the latter influenced her powerfully, and she saw no ireason why 
she should disappoint them. But she was much too high- 
spirited a girl to look with patience on any wavering in Burt. 
She had not set her heart on him or sought to be more to him 
than to a brother, and if he wished for more he must win and 
hold the right by undoubted loyalty. The fact that Amy h^d 
been brought into the Clifford family as a daughter and sister 
had not cheated Nature a moment, as both Burt and Webb 
had proved. She was not their sister, and had unconsciously 
evoked from each of the young men a characteristic regard. 
Burt must not be judged too harshly. He had to contend with 
a temperament not uncommon — one that renders its possessor 
highly susceptible to the beauty and fascination of women. 


370 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


He was as far removed from the male flirt genus as sincerity is 
from falsehood ; but his passion for Amy had been more like 
a manifestation of a trait than a strong individual preference 
based on mutual fitness and helpfulness. Miss Hargrove was 
more truly his counterpart. She could supplement the weak- 
nesses and defects of his character more successfully than Amy, 
and in a vague way he felt this. With all the former’s vivacity 
there was much reserve strength and magnetism. She was 
unusually gifted with will power, and having once gained an 
influence over a person, she would have, as agents to maintain 
it, not only her beauty, but tact, keen insight, and a very quick 
intelligence. Although true herself, she was by no means un- 
sophisticated, and having once comprehended Burt’s character, 
she would have the power, possessed by few others, to make 
the most of him. 

Amy was nearer to nature. She would first attract uncon- 
sciously, like a rare and beautiful flower, and the loveliness and 
fragrance of her life would be undying. Burt had felt her 
charm, and responded most decisively ; but the tranquil regard 
of her unawakened heart had little power to retain and deepen 
his feeling. She bloomed on at his side, sweet to him, sweet 
to all. In Miss Hargrove’s dark eyes lurked a stronger spell, 
and he almost dared to believe that they had revealed to him 
a love of which he began to think Amy was not capable. On 
the generous young fellow, whose intentions were good, this 
fact would have very great influence, and in preserving her 
supremacy Miss Hargrove would also be able to employ not a 
little art and worldly wisdom. 

The events that are most desired do not always happen, 
however, and poor Burt felt that he had involved himself in 
complications of which he saw no solution ; while Amy’s pur- 
pose to give him “ a lesson ” promised anything but relief. 
Her plan involved scarcely any change in her manner towards 
him. She would simply act as if she believed all that he had 
said, and take it for granted that his hopes for the future were 


DISQUIET WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 

unchanged. She proposed, however, to maintain this attitude 
only long enough to teach him that it is not wise, to say the 
least, to declare undying devotion too often to different ladies. 

The weather during the night and early on the following 
morning was puzzling. It might be that the storm was passing, 
and that the ragged clouds which still darkened the sky were 
the rear-guard or the' stragglers that were following the sluggish 
advance of its main body; or it might be that there was a 
partial break in Nature’s forces, and that heavier cloud-masses 
were still to come. Mr. Clifford inclined to the latter view. 
“ Old Storm King is still shrouded,” he said at the breakfast- 
table, “ and this heavy, sultry air does not indicate clearing 
weather.” 

Events soon confirmed his opinion. Nature seemed bent on 
repeating the programme of the preceding day, with the pur- 
pose of showing how much more she could do on the same 
line of action. There was no steady wind from any quarter. 
Converging or conflicting currents in the upper air may have 
brought heavy clouds together in the highlands to the south- 
west, for although the rain began to fall heavily, it could not 
account for the unprecedented rise of the streams. In little 
over an hour there was a continuous roar of rushing water. 
Burt, restless and almost reckless, went out to watch the floods. 
He soon returned to say that every bridge on the place had 
gone, and that what had been dry and stony channels twenty- 
four hours before were now filled with resistless torrents. 

Webb also put on his rubber suit, and they went down the 
main street towards the landing. This road, as it descended 
through a deep valley to the river, was bordered by a stream 
that drained for some miles the northwestern slope of the 
mountains. For weeks its rocky bed had been dry ; now it 
was filled with a river yellow as the Tiber. One of the main 
bridges across it was gone, and half of the road in one place 
had been scooped out and carried away by the furious waters. 
People were removing their household goods out into the verti- 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


372 

cal deluge lest they and all they had should be swept into the 
river by the torrent that was above their doorsteps. The main 
steamboat wharf, at which the Powell had touched but a few 
hours before, was scarcely passable with boats, so violent was 
the current that poured over it. The rise had been so sudden 
that people could scarcely realize it, and strange incidents 
had occurred. A horse attached to a wagon had been stand- 
ing in front of a store. A vivid flash of lightning startled the 
animal, and he broke away, galloped up a side street to the spot 
where the bridge had been, plunged in, was swept down, and 
scarcely more than a minute had elapsed before he was back 
within a rod or two of his starting-point, crushed and dead. 

Webb soon returned. He had noticed that Amy’s eyes had 
followed him wistfully, and almost reproachfully, as he went 
out. Nature’s mood was one to inspire awe, and something 
akin to dread, in even his own mind. She appeared to have 
lost or to have relaxed her hold upon her forces. It seemed 
that the gathered stores of moisture from the dry, hot weeks 
of evaporation were being thrown recklessly away, regardless of 
consequences. There was no apparent storm-centre, passing 
steadily to one quarter of the heavens, but on all sides the 
lightning would leap from the clouds, while mingling with the 
nearer and louder peals was the heavy and continuous monotone 
from flashes below the horizon. 

He was glad he had returned, for he found Amy pale and 
nervous indeed. Johnnie had been almost crying with terror, 
and had tremblingly asked her mother if Noah’s flood could 
come again. 

“ No,” said Maggie, confidently. “ If there was to be an- 
other flood, grandpa would have been told to build an ark ; ” 
and this assurance had appeared so obviously true that the 
child’s fears were quieted. Even Leonard’s face was full of 
gloom and foreboding, when the children were not present, as 
he looked out on flooded fields, and from much experience 
estimated the possible injury to the farm and the town. Mr. 


DISQUIET WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 373 


and Mrs. Clifford were quiet and serene. They had attained a 
peace which was not easily disturbed, and the old gentleman 
remarked : “ I have seen a worse storm even in this vicinity. 
You must remember it, Leonard.” 

“ But this deluge isn’t over,” was the reply. “ It seems a 



A STORMY DAY. 


tremendous re-action from the drought, and where it will end it 
is hard to tell, unless this steady downpouring slackens soon.” 

Leonard’s fears were not realized, however. The unusual 
and tropical manifestations of the storm at last ceased, and by 
night the rain fell softly and gently, as if Nature were penitent 
over her wild passion. The results of it, however, were left in 
all directions. Many roads were impassable ; scores of bridges 


374 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


were gone. The passengers from the evening boats were landed 
on a wharf partially submerged, and some were taken in boats 
to a point whence they could reach their carriages. 

In the elements’ disquiet Burt had found an excuse for his 
own, and he had remained out much of the day. He had not 
called on Miss Hargrove again, but had ridden far enough to 
learn that the bridges in that direction were safe. All the 
family had remonstrated with him for his exposure, and Amy 
asked him, laughingly, if he had been “ sitting on bridges to 
keep them from floating away.” 

“ You are growing ironical,” he answered, for he was not in 
an amiable mood, and he retired early. 


IDLE WILD. 


375 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

IDLEWILD. 

I N the morning Nature appeared to have forgotten both her 
passion and her penitence, and smiled serenely over the 
havoc she had made, as if it were of no consequence. 

Amy said, “ Let us take the strong rockaway, call for Miss 
Hargrove, and visit some of the streams ; ” and she noted that 
Burt’s assent was too undemonstrative to be natural. Maggie 
decided to go also, and take the children, while Leonard pro- 
posed to devote the day to repairing the damage to the farm, 
his brothers promising to aid him in the afternoon. , 

When at last the party left their carriage at one of the en- 
trances of Idlewild, the romantic glen made so famous by the 
poet Willis, a stranger might have thought that he had never 
seen a group more in accord w.ith the open, genial sunshine. 
This would be true of Maggie and the children. They thought 
of what they saw, and uttered all their thoughts. The soltition 
of one of life’s deep problems had come to Maggie, but not to 
the others, and such is the nature of this problem that its solu- 
tion can usually be reached only by long and hidden processes. 
Not one of the four young people was capable of a deliberately 
unfair policy ; all, with the exception of Amy, were conscious 
whither Nature was leading them, and she had thoughts also of 
which she would not speak. There was no lack of truth in the 
party, and yet circumstances had brought about a larger degree 
of reticence than of frankness. To borrow an illustration from 
Nature, who, after all, was to blame for what was developing 
in each heart, a rapid growth of root was taking place, and 


37<5 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


the flower and fruit would inevitably manifest themselves in 
time. Miss Hargrove naturally had the best command over 
herself. She had taken her course, and would abide by it, no 
matter what she might suffer. Burt had mentally set his teeth, 
and "resolved that he would be not only true to Amy, but also 
his old gay self. His pride was now in the ascendant. Amy, 
however, was not to be deceived, and her intuition made it clear 
that he was no longer her old happy, contented comrade. 
But she was too proud to show that her pride was wounded, 
and appeared to be her former self. Webb, as usual, was quiet, 
observant, and not altogether hopeless. And so this merry 
party, innocent, notwithstanding all their hidden thoughts about 
each other, went down into the glen, and saw the torrent flash- 
ing where the sunlight struck it through the overhanging foliage. 
Half-way down the ravine there was a rocky, wooded plateau 
from which they had a view of the flood for some distance, 
as it came plunging towards them with a force and volume that 
appeared to threaten the solid foundations of the place on 
which they stood. With a roar of baffled fury it sheered off 
to the left, rushed down another deep descent, and disappeared 
from view. The scene formed a strange blending of peace and 
beauty with wild, fierce movement and uproar. From the foli- 
age above and around them came a soft, slumberous sound, 
evoked by the balmy wind that fanned their cheeks. The 
ground and the surface of the torrent were flecked with waving, 
dancing light and shade, as the sunlight filtered through in- 
numerable leaves, on some of which a faint tinge of red and 
gold was beginning to appear. Beneath and through all thun- 
dered a dark, resistless tide, fit emblem of lawless passion that, 
unchanged, unrestrained by gentle influences, pursues its down- 
ward course reckless of consequences. Although the volume 
of water passing beneath their feet was still immense, it was 
evident that it had been very much greater. “ L stood here 
yesterday afternoon,” said Burt, “ and then the sight was truly 
grand.” 



time. We were alarmed about him, fearing lest he should be 
washed away, dissolved, or something.” 

“ Do I seem utterly quenched this morning? ” he asked, in a 
light vein, but flushing deeply. 

“ Oh, no^not in the least, and yet it’s strange, after so much 
cold water nas fallen on you.” 


IDLEWILD. 377 

“Why, it was raining hard in the afternoon!” exclaimed 
Miss Hargrove. 

“ Burt seemed even more perturbed than the weather yester- 
day,” Amy remarked, laughing. “ He was out nearly all the 


THE SWOLLEN STREAM. 


378 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ One is not quenched by such trifles/’ he replied, a little 
coldly. 

They were about to turn away, when a figure sprang out upon 
a rock, far up the stream, in the least accessible part of the 
glen. They all recognized Mr. Alvord, as he stood with folded 
arms and looked down on the flood that rushed by on either 
side of him. He had not seen them, and no greeting was pos- 
sible above the sound of the waters. Webb thought, as he 
carried little Ned up the steep path, “ Perhaps, in the mad cur- 
rent, he sees the counterpart of some period in his past.” 

The bridge across the mouth of Idlewild Brook was gone, and 
they next went to the landing. The main wharf was covered 
with large stones and gravel, the debris of the flood that had 
poured over it from the adjacent stream, whose natural outlet 
had been wholly inadequate. Then they drove to the wild and 
beautiful Mountainville road, that follows the Moodna Creek for 
a long distance. They could not proceed very far, however, 
for they soon came to a place where a tiny brook had passed 
under a wooden bridge. Now there was a great yawning 
chasm. Not only the bridge, but tons of earth were gone. 
The Moodna Creek, that had almost ceased to flow in the 
drought, had become a tawny river, and rushed by them with 
a sullen roar. Hanging over the tide was an old dead tree, 
on which was perched a fish-hawk. Even while they were 
looking at him, and Burt was wishing for his rifle, the bird 
swooped downward, plunged into the stream with a splash, and 
rose with a fish in his talons. It was an admirable exhibition 
of fearlessness and power, and Burt admitted that such a sports- 
man deserved to live. 


ECHOES OF A PAST STORM. 


37 9 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

ECHOES OF A PAST STORM. 

M ISS HARGROVE returned to dine with them, and as 
they were lingering over the dessert and coffee Webb 
remarked, “ By the way, I think the poet Willis has given an 
account of a similar, or even greater, deluge in this region.” 
He soon returned from the library, and read the following 
extracts : “ ‘I do not see in the Tribune or other daily papers 
any mention of an event which occupies a whole column on the 
outside page of the highest mountain above West Point. An 
avalanche of earth and stone, which has seamed from summit 
to base the tall bluff that abuts updti the Hudson, forming a 
column of news visible for twenty miles, has reported a deluge 
we have had — a report a mile long, and much broader than 
Broadway.’ ” 

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Clifford, “ that’s the flood of which I 
spoke yesterday. It was very local, but w r as much worse than 
the one we have just had. It occurred in August of ’53. I 
remember now that Mr. Willis wrote a good deal about the 
affair in his letters from Idlewild. What else does he say? ” 
Webb, selecting here and there, continued to read : “ ‘ We 
have had a deluge in the valley immediately around us — a 
deluge which is shown by the overthrown farm buildings, the 
mills, dams, and bridges swept away, the well-built roads cut 
into chasms, the destruction of horses and cattle, and the immi- 
nent peril to life. It occurred on the evening of August 1, and 
a walk to-day down the valley which forms the thoroughfare to 


380 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Cornwall Landing (or, rather, a scramble over its gulfs in the 
road, its upset barns and sheds, its broken vehicles, drift lum- 
ber, rocks, and rubbish) would impress a stranger like a walk 
after the deluge of Noah. 

“ ‘ The flood came upon us with scarce half an hour’s notice. 
My venerable neighbor, of eighty years of age, who had passed 
his life here, and knows well the workings of the clouds among 
the mountains, had dined with us, but hastened his departure 
to get home before what looked like a shower, crossing with 
his feeble steps the stream whose strongest bridge, an hour 
after, was swept away. Another of our elderly neighbors had a 
much narrower escape. The sudden rush of water alarmed 
him for the safety of an old building he used for his stable, 
which stood upon the bank of the small stream usually scarce 
noticeable as it crosses the street at the landing. He had 
removed his horse, and returned to unloose a favorite dog, but 
before he could accomplish it the building fell. The single 
jump with which he endeavored to clear himself of the top- 
pling rafters threw him into the torrent, and he was swept 
headlong towards the *gulf which it had already torn in the 
wharf on the Hudson. His son and two others plunged in, and 
succeeded in snatching him from destruction. Another citizen 
was riding homeward, when the solid and strongly embanked 
road was swept away before and behind him, and he had barely 
time to unhitch his horse and escape, leaving his carriage 
islanded between the chasms. A man who was driving with his 
wife and child along our own wall on the river-shore had a yet 
more fearful escape : his horse suddenly forced to swim, and 
his wagon set afloat, and carried so violently against a tree by 
the swollen current of Idlewild Brook that he and his precious 
load were thrown into the water, and with difficulty reached 
the bank beyond. A party of children who were out huckle- 
berrying on the mountain were separated from home by the 
swollen brook, and one of them was nearly drowned in vainly 
attempting to cross it. Their parents and friends were out all 


ECHOES OF A PAST STORM. 


381 


night in search of them. An aged farmer and his wife, who 
had been to Newburgh, and were returning with their two-horse 
wagon well laden with goods, attempted to drive over a bridge 
as it unsettled with the current, and were precipitated head- 
long. The old man caught a sapling as he went down with the 
flood, the old woman holding on to his coat-skirts, and so they 
struggled until their cries brought assistance.’ Other and simi- 
lar incidents are given. One large building was completely 
disembowelled, and the stream coursed violently between the 
two halves of its ruins. ‘ I was stopped,’ he writes in another 
place, 1 as I scrambled along the gorge, by a curious picture 
for the common highway. The brick front of the basement of 
a dwelling-house had been torn off, and the mistress of the 
house was on her hands and knees, with her head thrust in 
from a rear window, apparently getting her first look down into 
the desolated kitchen from which she had fled in the night. A 
man stood in the middle of the floor, up to his knees in water, 
looking round in dismay, though he had begun to pick up some 
of the overset chairs and utensils. The fireplace, with its in- 
terrupted supper arrangements, the dresser, with its plates and 
pans, its cups and saucers, the closets and cupboards, with 
their various stores and provisions, were all laid open to the 
road like a sliced watermelon.’ ” 

“ Well,” ejaculated Leonard, “ we haven’t so much cause to 
complain, after hearing of an affair like that. I do remember 
many of my impressions at the time, now that the event is 
recalled so vividly, but have forgotten how so sudden a flood 
was accounted for.” 

“ Willis speaks of it on another page,” continued Webb/ “ as 
4 the aggregation of extensive masses of clouds into what is 
sometimes called a “ water- spout,” by the meeting of winds 
upon the converging edge of our bowl of highlands. The 
storm for a whole country was thus concentrated.’ I think 
there must have been yesterday a far heavier fall of water on 
the mountains a little to the southeast than we had here. Per- 


382 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


haps the truer explanation in both instances would be that the 
winds brought heavy clouds together or against the mountains 
in such a way as to induce an enormous precipitation of vapor 
into rain. Mr. Willis indicates by the following passage the 
suddenness of the flood he describes : ‘ My first intimation that 
there was anything uncommon in the brook was the sight of a 
gentleman in a boat towing a cow across the meadow under our 
library window — a green glade seldom or never flooded. The 
roar from the foaming precipices in the glen had been heard by 
us all, but was thought to be thunder.’ Then he tells how he 
and his daughter put on their rubber suits and hastened into 
the glen. 4 The chasm,’ he writes, ‘ in which the brook, in any 
freshet I had heretofore seen, was still only a deep-down stream, 
now seemed too small for the torrent. Those giddy precipices 
on which the sky seems to lean as you stand below were the 
foam-lashed sides of a full and mighty river. The spray broke 
through the tops of the full-grown willows and lindens. As the 
waves plunged against the cliffs they parted, and disclosed the 
trunks and torn branches of the large trees they had over- 
whelmed and were bearing away, and the earth-colored flood, 
in the wider places, was a struggling mass of planks, timber, 
rocks, and roots — tokens of a tumultuous ruin above, to which 
the thunder-shower pouring around us gave but a feeble clew. 
A heavy-limbed willow, which overhung a rock on which I had 
often sat to watch the freshets of spring, rose up while we 
looked at it, and with a surging heave, as if lifted by an earth- 
quake, toppled back, and was swept rushingly away.’ ” 

“ How I would have liked to see it ! ” exclaimed Miss Har- 
grove. 

“ I can see it,” said Amy, leaning back, and closing her eyes. 
“I can see it all too vividly. I don’t like nature in such 
moods.” Then she took up the volume, and began turning the 
leaves, and said : “ I’ve never seen this book before. Why, it’s 
all about this region, and written before I was born. Oh dear, 
here is another chapter of horrors!” and she read: Close 


ECHOES OF A PAST STORM. 


383 


to our gate, at the door of one of our nearest and most valued 
neighbors — a lovely girl was yesterday struck dead by light- 
ning. A friend who stood with her at the moment was a greater 
sufferer, in being prostrated by the same flash, and paralyzed 
from the waist downward — her life spared at the cost of tor- 
tures inexpressible.’ ” 

Webb reached out his hand to take the book from her, but 
she sprang aloof, and with dilating eyes read further : “ ‘ Miss 
Gilmour had been chatting with a handsome boy admirer, but 
left him to take aside a confidential friend that she might read 
her a letter. It was from her mother, a widow with this only 
daughter. They passed out of the gate, crossed the road to be 
out of hearing, and stood under the telegraph wire, when the 
letter was opened. Her lips were scarce parted to read when 
the flash came — an arrow of intense light — ’ Oh, horrible ! 
horrible ! How can you blame me for fear in a thunder- 
storm? ” 

“ Amy,” said Webb, now quietly taking the book, “ your 
dread at such times is constitutional. If there were need, you 
could face danger as well as any of us. You would have all a 
woman’s fortitude, and that surpasses ours. Take the world 
over, the danger from lightning is exceedingly slight, and it’s 
not the danger that makes you tremble, but your nervous 
organization.” 

“ You interpret me kindly,” she said, “ but I don’t see why 
nature is so full of horrible things. If Gertrude had been 
bitten by the snake, she might have fared even worse than the 
poor girl of whom I have read.” 

Miss Hargrove could not forbear a swift, grateful glance at 
Burt. 

“ I do not think nature is full of horrible things,” Webb re- 
sumed. “ Remember how many showers have cooled the air 
and made the earth beautiful and fruitful in this region. In no 
other instance that I know anything about has life been de- 
stroyed in our vicinity. There is indeed a §\de to nature that; 


384 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


is full of mystery — the old dark mystery of evil; but I should 
rather say it is full of all that is beautiful and helpful. At least 
this seems true of our region. I have never seen so much 
beauty in all my life as during the past year, simply because I 
am forming the habit of looking for it.” 

“Why, Webb,” exclaimed Amy, laughing, “I thought your 
mind was concentrating on crops and subjects as deep as the 
ocean.” 

“ It would take all the salt of the ocean to save that remark,” 
he replied ; but he beat a rather hasty retreat. 

“ Well, Amy,” said Mr. Clifford, “ you may now dismiss your 
fears. I imagine that in our tropical storm summer has passed ; 
and with it thunder-showers and sudden floods. We may now 
look forward to two months of almost ideal weather, with now 
and then a day that will make a book and a wood fire all the 
more alluring.” 

The old gentleman’s words proved true. The days passed 
like bright smiles, in which, however, lurked the pensiveness of 
autumn. Slowly failing maples glowed first with the hectic flush 
of disease, but gradually warmer hues stole into the face of 
Nature, for it is the dying of the leaves that causes the changes 
of color in the foliage. 


IMPULSES OF THE HEART 


335 


CHAPTER L. 

IMPULSES OF THE HEART. 

T HE fall season brought increased and varied labors on the 
farm and in the garden. As soon as the ground was dry 
after the tremendous storm, and its ravages had been repaired 
as far as possible, the ploughs were busy preparing for winter 
grain, turnips were thinned out, winter cabbages and cauli- 
flowers cultivated, and the succulent and now rapidly growing 
celery earthed up. The fields of corn were watched, and as 
fast as the kernels within the husks — now becoming golden- 
hued — were glazed, the stalks were cut and tied in compact 
shocks. The sooner maize is cut, after it has sufficiently ma- 
tured, the better, for the leaves make more nutritious fodder if 
cured or dried while still full of sap. From some fields the 
shocks were wholly removed, that the land might be ploughed 
and seeded with grain and grass. Buckwheat, used merely as 
a green and scavenger crop, was ploughed under as it came into 
blossom, and that which was sow®»|p mature was cut in the 
early morning, while the dew was still upon it, for in the heat 
of the day the grain shells easily, and is lost. After drying for 
a few days in compact little heaps it was ready for the thresh- 
ing-machine. Then the black, angular kernels — promises of 
many winter breakfasts — were spread to dry on the barn floor, 
for if thrown into heaps or bins at this early stage, they heat 
badly. 

The Cliffords had long since learned that the large late 
peaches, that mature after the Southern crop is out of the 


386 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


market, are the most profitable, and almost every day Abram 
took to the landing a load of baskets full of downy beauties. 
An orange grove, with its deep green foliage and golden fruit, 
is beautiful indeed, but an orchard laden with Crawford’s Late, 
in their best development, can well sustain comparison. Shar- 
ing the honors and attention given to the peaches were the 
Bartlett and other early pears. These latter fruits were treated 
in much the same way as the former. The trees were picked 
over every few days, and the largest and ripest specimens taken, 
their maturity being indicated by the readiness of the stem to 
part from the spray when the pear is lifted. The greener and 
imperfect fruit was left to develop, and the trees, relieved of 
much of their burden, were able to concentrate their forces on 
what was left. The earlier red grapes, including the Delaware, 
Brighton, and Agawam, not only furnished the table abundantly, 
but also a large surplus for market. Indeed, there was high and 
dainty feasting at the Cliffords’ every day — fruit everywhere, 
hanging temptingly within reach, with its delicate bloom 
untouched, untarnished. 

The storm and the seasonable rains that followed soon re- 
stored its fulness and beauty to Nature’s withered face. The 
drought had brought to vegetation partial rest and extension of 
root growth, and now, with the abundance of moisture, there 
was almost a spring-like revival. The grass sprang up afresh, 
meadows and fields grew green, and annual weeds, from seeds 
that had matured in August, appeared by the million. 

“ I am glad to see them,” Webb remarked. “ Before they 
can mature any seed the frost will put an end to their career 
of mischief, and there will be so many seeds less to grow next 
spring.” 

“ There’ll be plenty left,” Leonard replied. 

The Cliffords, by their provident system of culture, had pre- 
pared for droughts as mariners do for storms, and hence they 
had not suffered so greatly as others ; but busy as they were 
kept by the autumnal bounty of Nature, and the rewards of 



IMPULSES OF THE HEART 387 

their own industry, they found time for recreation, and thoughts 
far removed from the material questions of profit and loss. The 
drama of life went on, and feeling, conviction, and love matured 


HARVESTING. 

like the ripening fruits, although not so openly. As soon as his 
duties permitted, Burt took a rather abrupt departure for a 
hunting expedition in the northern woods, and a day or two 


388 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


later Amy received a note from Miss Hargrove, saying that she 
had accepted an invitation to join a yachting party. 

“ Oh, Webb ! ” she exclaimed, “ I wish you were not so 
awfully busy all the time. Here I am, thrown wholly on your 
tender mercies, and I am neither a crop nor a scientific sub- 
ject.” 

He gave her little reason for complaint. The increasing 
coolness and exhilarating vitality of the air made not only labor 
agreeable, but out-door sports delightful, and he found time for 
an occasional gallop, drive, or ramble along roads and lanes 
lined with golden-rod and purple asters ; and these recreations 
had no other drawback than the uncertainty and anxiety within 
his heart. The season left nothing to be desired, but the outer 
world, even in its perfection, is only an accompaniment of 
human life, which is often in sad discord with it. 

Nature, however, is a harmony of many and varied strains, 
and the unhappy are always conscious of a deep minor key 
even on the brightest days. To Alf and Johnnie the fall 
brought unalloyed joy and promise ; to those who were older, 
something akin to melancholy, which deepened with the autumn 
of their life ; while to Mr. Alvord every breeze was a sigh, every 
rising wind a mournful requiem, and every trace of change a 
reminder that his spring and summer had passed forever, leav- 
ing only a harvest of bitter memories. Far different was the 
dreamy pensiveness with which Mr. and Mrs. Clifford looked 
back upon their vanished youth and maturity. At the same 
time they felt within themselves the beginnings of an immortal 
youth. Although it was late autumn with them, not memory, 
but hope, was in the ascendant. 

During damp or chilly days, and on the evenings of late Sep- 
tember, the fire burned cheerily on the hearth of their Franklin 
stove. The old gentleman had a curious fancy in regard to his 
fire-wood. He did not want the straight, shapely sticks from 
their mountain land, but gnarled and crooked billets, cut from 
trees about the place that had required pruning and removal. 


IMPULSES OF THE HEART. 


389 


“I have associations with such fuel,” he said, " and can 
usually recall the trees — many of which I planted — from 
which it came } and as I watch it burn and turn into coals, I 
see pictures of what happened many years ago.” 

One evening he threw on the fire a worm-eaten billet, the 
sound part of which was as red as mahogany ; then drew Amy 
to him and said, “ I once sat with your father under the apple- 
tree of which that piece of wood was a part, and I can see him 
now as he then looked.” 

She sat down beside him, and said, softly, “ Please tell me 
how he looked.” 

In simple words the old man portrayed the autumn day, the 
fruit as golden as the sunshine, a strong, hopeful man, who had 
passed away in a far-distant land, but who was still a living pres- 
ence to both. Amy looked at the picture in the flickering blaze 
until her eyes were blinded with tears. But such drops fall on 
the heart like rain and dew, producing richer and more beauti- 
ful life. 

The pomp and glory of October were ushered in by days of 
such surpassing balminess and brightness that it was felt to be a 
sin to remain in-doors. The grapes had attained their deepest 
purple, and the apples' in the orchard vied with the brilliant and 
varied hues of the fast-turning foliage. The nights were soft, 
warm, and resonant with the unchecked piping of insects. 
From every tree and shrub the katydids contradicted one 
another with increasing emphasis,. as if conscious that the time 
was at hand when the last word must be spoken. The stars 
glimmered near through a delicate haze, and in the western sky 
the pale crescent of the moon was so inclined that the old 
Indian might have hung upon it his powder-horn. 

On such an evening the young people from the Cliffords’ had 
gathered on Mr. Hargrove’s piazza, and Amy and Gertrude were 
looking at the new moon with silver in their pockets, each 
making her silent wish. What were those wishes ? Amy had 
to think before deciding what she wanted most, but not Miss 


390 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Hargrove. Her face has grown thinner and paler during the 
last few weeks ; there is unwonted brilliancy in her eyes to-night, 
but her expression is resolute. Her wish and her hope were at 
variance. Times of weakness, if such they could be called, 
would come, but they should not appear in Burt’s or Amy’s 
presence. 

The former had just returned, apparently gayer than ever. 
His face was bronzed from his out-door life in the Adirondacks. 
Its expression was also resolute, and his eyes turned oftenest 
towards Amy, with a determined loyalty. As has been said, 
not long after the experiences following the storm, he had 
yielded to his impulse to go away and recover his poise. He 
felt that if he continued to see Miss Hargrove frequently he 
might reveal a weakness which would lead not only Amy to 
despise him,' but also Miss Hargrove, should she become aware 
of the past. As he often took such outings, the family, with 
the exception of Webb and Amy, thought nothing of it. His 
brother and the girl he had wooed so passionately now under- 
stood him well enough to surmise his motive, and Amy had 
thought, “ It will do him good to go away and think awhile, 
but it will make no difference ; this new affair must run its 
course also.” And yet her heart began to relent towards him 
after a sisterly fashion. She wondered if Miss Hargrove did 
regard him as other than a friend to whom she owed very much. 
If so, she smiled at the idea of standing in the way of their 
mutual happiness. She had endured his absence with exceed- 
ing tranquillity, for Webb had given her far more of his society, 
and she, Alf, and Johnnie often went out and aided him in 
gathering the fruit. For some reason these light tasks had been 
more replete with quiet enjoyment than deliberate pleasure- 
seeking. 

Burt had been at pains to take, in Amy’s presence, a most 
genial and friendly leave of Miss Hargrove, but there was no 
trace of the lover in his manner. His smiles and cordial words 
had chilled her heart, and had strengthened the fear that in 


IMPULSES OF THE HEART. 


391 


some way he was bound to Amy. She knew that she had fas- 
cinated and perhaps touched him deeply, but imagined she saw 
indications of an allegiance that gave little hope for the future. 
If he felt as she did, and were free, he would not have gone 
away ; and when he had gone, time grew leaden-footed. Ab- 
sence is the touchstone, and by its test she knew that her father 
was right, and that she, to whom so much love had been given 
unrequited, had bestowed hers apparently in like manner. 
Then had come an invitation to join a yachting party to Fort- 
ress Monroe, and she had eagerly accepted. With the half- 
reckless impulse of pride, she had resolved to throw away the 
dream that had promised so much, and yet had ended in such 
bitter and barren reality. She would forget it all in one brief 
whirl of gayety ; and she had been the brilliant life of the party. 
But how often her laugh had ended in a stifled sigh ! How 
often her heart told her, “ This is not happiness, and never can 
be again ” ! Her brief experience of what is deep and genuine 
in life taught her that she had outgrown certain pleasures of the 
past, as a child outgrows its toys, and she had returned thor- 
oughly convinced that her remedy was not in the dissipations 
of society. 

The evening after her return Burt, with Webb and Amy, had 
come to call, and as she looked upon him again she asked her- 
self, in sadness, “Is there any remedy?” She was not one to 
give her heart in a half-way manner. 

It seemed to her that he had been absent for years, and had 
grown indefinitely remote. Never before had she gained the 
impression so strongly that he was in some way bound to Amy, 
and would abide by his choice. If this were true, she felt that 
the sooner she left the vicinity the better, and even while she 
chatted lightly and genially she was planning to induce her 
father to return to the city at an early date. Before parting, 
Amy spoke of her pleasure at the return of her friend, who, she 
said, had been greatly missed, adding : “ Now we shall make 
up for lost time. The roads are in fine condition for horseback 


39 ^ 


NATURE ' 1 S SERIAL STORY. 


exercise, nutting expeditions will soon be in order, and we have 
a bee-hunt on the programme.” 

“ I congratulate you on your prospects,” said Miss Hargrove. 
“ I wish I could share in all your fun, but fear I shall soon 
return to the city.” 

Burt felt a sudden chill at these words, and a shadow from 
them fell across his face. Webb saw their effect, and he at 
once entered on a rather new role for him. “ Then we must 
make the most of the time before you go,” he began. “ I pro- 
pose we take advantage of this weather and drive over to West 
Point, and lunch at Fort Putnam.” 

“ Why, Webb, what a burst of genius ! ” Amy exclaimed. 
“ Nothing could be more delightful. Let us go to-morrow, for 
we can’t count on such weather long.” 

Miss Hargrove hesitated. The temptation was indeed strong, 
but she felt it would not be wise to yield, and began, hesitatingly, 
“ I fear my engagements — ” At this moment she caught a 
glimpse of Burt’s face in a mirror, and saw the look of disap- 
pointment which he could not disguise. “ If I return to the 
city soon,” she resumed, “ I ought to be at my preparations.” 

“ Why, Gertrude,” said Amy, “ I almost feel as if you did not 
wish to go. Can’t you spare one day? I thought you were to 
remain in the country till November. I have been planning so 
much that we could do together ! ” 

“ Surely, Miss Hargrove,” added Burt, with a slight tremor in 
his voice, “you cannot nip Webb’s genius in the very bud. 
Such an expedition as he proposes is an inspiration.” 

“ But you can do without me,” she replied, smiling on him 
bewilderingly. 

It was a light arrow, but its aim was true. Never before had 
he so felt the power of her beauty, the almost irresistible spell 
of her fascination. While her lips were smiling, there was an 
expression in her dark eyes that made her words, so simple and 
natural in themselves, a searching question, and he could not 
forbear saying, earnestly, “ We should all enjoy the excursion 
far more if you went with us.” 


IMPULSES OF THE HEART. 


393 


“Truly, Miss Hargrove,” said Webb, “I shall be quenched 
if you decline, and feel that I have none of the talent for which 
I was beginning to gain a little credit.” 

“ I cannot resist such an appeal as that, Mr. Clifford,” she 
said, laughingly. 

“This is perfectly splendid ! ” cried Amy. “I anticipate a 
marvellous day to-morrow. Bring Fred also, and let us all vie 
with each other in encouraging Webb.” 

“Has that quiet Webb any scheme in his mind?” Miss 
Hargrove thought, after they had gone. “ I wish that to-mor- 
row might indeed be ‘ a marvellous day ’ for us all.” 

“ Can I do without her?” was poor Burt’s query. An 
affirmative answer was slow in coming, though he thought long 
and late. 


394 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


CHAPTER LI. 

WEBB’S fateful expedition. 

M R. HARGROVE had welcomed the invitation that took 
his daughter among some of her former companions, 
hoping that a return to brilliant fashionable life would prove to 
her that she could not give it up. It was his wish that she 
should marry a wealthy man of the city. His wife did not 
dream of any other future for her handsome child, and she 
looked forward with no little complacency to the ordering of a 
new and elegant establishment. 

At the dinner-table Gertrude had given a vivacious account 
of her yachting experience, and all had appeared to promise 
well ; but when she went to the library to kiss her father good- 
night, he looked at her inquiringly, and said, “You enjoyed 
every moment, I suppose?” 

She shook her head sadly, and, after a moment, said : “ I 
fear I’ve grown rather tired of that kind of thing. We made 
much effort to enjoy ourselves. Is there not a happiness which 
comes without so much effort? ” 

“ I’m sorry,” he said, simply. 

“ Perhaps you need not be. Suppose I find more pleasure 
in staying with you than in rushing around? ” 

“ That would not last. That is contrary to nature.” 

“ I think it would be less contrary to my nature than forced 
gayety among people I care nothing about.” 

He smiled at her fondly, but admitted to himself that absence 


WEBB'S FATEFUL EXPEDITION. 


395 


had confirmed the impressions of the summer, instead of dissi- 
pating them, and that if Burt became her suitor he would be 
accepted. 

When she looked out on the morning of the excursion to 
Fort Putnam it was so radiant with light and beauty that hope 
sprang up within her heart. Disappointment that might last 
through life could not come on a day like this. Silvery mists 
ascended from the river down among the Highlands. The 
lawn and many of the fields were as green as they had been in 
June, and on every side were trees like immense bouquets, so 
rich and varied was their coloring. There was a dewy fresh- 
ness in the air, a genial warmth in the sunshine, a spring-like 
blue in the sky ; and in these was no suggestion that the Novem- 
ber of her life was near. “ And yet it may be,” she thought. 
“ I must soon face my fate, and I must be true to Amy.” 

Mrs. Hargrove regarded with discontent the prospect of 
another long mountain expedition ; but Fred, her idol, was wild 
for it, and in a day or two he must return to school in the city, 
from which, at his earnest plea, he had been absent too long 
already; so she smiled her farewell at last upon the fateful 
excursion. 

He, with his sister, was soon at the Cliffords’, and found the 
rockaway — the strong old carryall with which Gertrude already 
had tender associations — in readiness.*. Maggie had agreed 
to chaperon the party, little Ned having been easily bribed to 
remain with his father. 

Miss Hargrove had looked wistfully at the Clifford mansion 
as she drew near to it. Never had it appeared to her more 
home-like, with its embowering trees and laden orchards. The 
bright hues of the foliage suggested the hopes that centred 
there : the ocean, as she had seen it — cold and gray under a 
clouded sky — was emblematic of life with no fulfilment of 
those hopes. And when Mr. Clifford met her at the door, and 
took her in to see the invalid, who greeted her almost as affec- 
tionately as she would have welcomed Amy after absence, Miss 


396 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Hargrove knew in the depths of her heart how easily she could 
be at home there. 

Never did a pleasure-party start under brighter auspices. 
Even Mrs. Clifford came out, on her husband’s arm, to wave 
them a farewell. 

The young men had their alpenstocks, for it was their inten- 
tion to walk up the steep places. Webb was about to take Alf 
and Johnnie on the front seat with him, when Amy exclaimed : 
“ I’m going to drive, Mr. Webb. Johnnie can sit between us, 
and keep me company when you are walking. You needn’t 
think that because you are the brilliant author of this expedi- 
tion you are going to have everything your own way.” 

Indeed, not a little guile lurked behind her laughing eyes, 
which ever kept Webb in perplexity — though he looked into 
them so often — as to whether they were blue or gray. Miss 
Hargrove demurely took her seat with Maggie, and Burt had 
the two boys with him. Fred had brought his gun, and was 
vigilant for game now that the “law was up.” 

They soon reached the foot of the mountain, and there was 
a general unloading, for at first every one wished to walk. 
Maggie good-naturedly climbed around to the front seat and 
took the reins, remarking that she would soon have plenty of 
company again. 

Burt had not recognized Amy’s tactics, nor did he at once 
second them, even unconsciously. His long ruminations had 
led to the only possible conclusion — the words he had spoken 
must be made good. Pride and honor permitted no other 
course. Therefore he proposed to-day to be ubiquitous, and 
as gallant to Maggie as to the younger ladies. When Miss 
Hargrove returned to the city he would quietly prove his loyalty. 
Never before had he appeared in such spirits ; never so inex- 
orably resolute. He recalled Amy’s incredulous laugh at his 
protestation of constancy, and felt that he could never look her 
in the face if he faltered. It was known that Miss Hargrove 
had received much attention, and her interest in him would be 


WEBB'S FATEFUL EXPEDITION. 


39 7 


likely to disappear at once should she learn of his declaration 
of undying devotion to another but a few months before. He 
anathematized himself, biit determined that his weakness should 
remain unknown. It was evident that Amy had been a little 
jealous, but probably that she did not yet care enough for him 
to be very sensitive on the subject. This made no difference, 
however. He had pledged himself to wait until she did care. 
Therefore he sedulously maintained his mask. Miss Hargrove 
should be made to believe that she had added much to the 
pleasure of the excursion, and there he would stop. And Burt 
on his mettle was no bungler. The test would come in his 
staying powers. 

Webb, however, was quietly serene. He had not watched 
and thought so long in vain. He had seen Burt’s expression 
the evening before, and knew that a wakeful night had followed. 
His own feeling had taught him a clairvoyance which enabled 
him to divine not a little of what was passing in his brother’s 
mind and that of Miss Hargrove. Amy troubled him more 
than they. Her frank, sisterly affection was not love, and 
might never become love. 

One of the objects of the expedition was to obtain an abun- 
dant supply of autumn leaves and ferns for pressing. “ I in- 
tend to make the old house look like a bower this winter,” Amy 
remarked. 

“ That would be impossible with our city home,” Miss Har- 
grove said, “ and mamma would not hear of such an attempt. 
But I can do as I please in my own room, and shall gather my 
country souvenirs to-day.” 

The idea of decorating her apartment with feathery ferns and 
bright-hued leaves took a strong hold upon her fancy, for she 
hoped that Burt would aid her in making the collection. Nor 
was she disappointed, for Amy said : 

“Burt, I have gathered and pressed nearly all the ferns I 
need already. You know the shady nooks where the most deli- 
cate ones grow, and you can help Gertrude make as good a 


39 » 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


collection as mine. You’ll help too, won’t you, Webb? ” added 
the innocent little schemer, who saw that Burt was looking at 
her rather keenly. 

So they wound up the mountain, making long stops here and 
there to gather sylvan trophies and to note the fine views. 
Amy’s manner was so cordial and natural that Burt’s suspicions 
had been allayed, and the young fellow, who could do nothing 
by halves, was soon deeply absorbed in making a superb collec- 
tion for Miss Hargrove, and she felt that, whatever happened, 
she was being enriched by everything he obtained for her. 
Amy had brought a great many newspapers folded together so 
that leaves could be placed between the pages, and Webb soon 
noted that his offerings were kept separate from those of Burt. 
The latter tried to be impartial in his labors in behalf of the two 
girls, bringing Amy bright-hued leaves instead of ferns, but did 
not wholly succeed, and sometimes he found himself alone with 
Miss Hargrove as they pursued their search a short distance on 
some diverging and shaded path. On one of these occasions 
he said, “ I like to think how beautiful you will make your room 
this winter.” 

“ I like to think of it too,” she replied. “ I shall feel that I 
have a part of my pleasant summer always present.” 

" Has it been a pleasant summer?” 

“ Yes, the pleasantest I ever enjoyed.” 

“ I should think you would find it exceedingly dull after such 
brilliant experiences as that of your yachting excursion.” 

“ Do you find to-day exceedingly dull? ” 

“ But I am used to the quiet country, and a day like this is 
the exception.” 

“ I do not imagine you have ever lived a tame life.” 

“ Isn’t that about the same as calling me wild? ” 

“ There’s no harm in beginning a little in that way. Time 
sobers one fast enough.” 

u You are so favored that I can scarcely imagine life bringing 
•sobering experiences to you very soon.” 


WEBB'S FA TEFUL EXPEDITION. 


399 


“ Indeed ? Have you forgotten what occurred on these very 
mountains, at no great distance ? I assure you I never forget 
it ; ” and her eyes were eloquent as she turned them upon 
him. 

“ One does not forget the most fortunate event of one’s life. 
Since you were to meet that danger, I would not have missed 
being near for the world. I had even a narrower escape, as you 
know, on this mountain. The spot where Webb found me is 
scarcely more than a mile away.” 

She looked at him very wistfully, and her face grew pale, but 
she only said, “ I don’t think either of us can forget the 
Highlands.” 

“ I shall never forget that little path,” he said, in a low tone, 
and he looked back at it lingeringly as they came out into the 
road and approached the rest of the party. 

“ Have you lost anything, Burt?” cried Amy, laughing. 

“ No, but I’ve found something. See this superb bunch of 
maiden hair. That spot should be marked for future supplies. 
Miss Hargrove will share with you, for you can’t have anything 
so fine as this.” 

“Yes, indeed I have, and I shall call you and Webb to ac- 
count if you do not to-day make Gertrude fare as well.” 

Both Miss Hargrove and Burt were bewildered. There was 
lurking mischief in Amy’s eyes when she first spoke, and yet 
she used her influence to keep Burt in her friend’s society. 
Her spirits seemed too exuberant to be natural, and Miss Har- 
grove, who was an adept at hiding her feelings under a mask of 
gayety, surmised that Amy’s feminine instincts had taught her 
to employ the same tactics. Conscious of their secret, Miss 
Hargrove and Burt both thought, “ Perhaps it is her purpose to 
throw us together as far as possible, and learn the truth.” 

Amy had a kinder purpose than they imagined. She wanted 
no more of Burt’s forced allegiance, and was much too good- 
natured to permit mere pique to cause unhappiness to others. 
« Let Gertrude win him if she cares for him,” was her thought, 


400 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ and if she can’t hold him his case is hopeless .” She could not 
resist the temptation, however, to tease Burt a little. 

But he gave her slight chance for the next few hours. Her 
mirthful question and the glance accompanying it had put him 
on his guard again, and he at once became the gay cavalier- 
general he had resolved on being throughout the day. 

They made a long pause to enjoy the view looking out upon 
Constitution Island, West Point, the southern mountains, and 
the winding river, dotted here and there with sails, and with 
steamers, seemingly held motionless by their widely separated 
train of canal boats. 

“What mountain is this that we are now to descend?” Miss 
Hargrove asked. 

“ Cro’ Nest,” Burt replied. “ It’s the first high mountain that 
abuts on the river above West Point, you will remember.” 

“ Oh, yes, I remember. I have a song relating to it, and will 
give you a verse ; ” and she sang : 

“ ‘Where Hudson’s waves o’er silvery sands 
Wind through the hills afar, 

And Cro’ Nest like a monarch stands, 

Crowned with a single star.’ ” 

After a round of applause had subsided, Burt, whose eyes had 
been more demonstrative than his hands, said, “ That’s by Mor- 
ris. We can see from Fort Putnam his old home under Mount 
Taurus.” 

“ I know. He is the poet who entreated the woodman to 
* spare that tree.’ ” 

“Which the woodman will never do,” Webb remarked, 
“unless compelled by law; nor even then, I fear.” 

“Oh, Webb!” cried Amy, “with what a thump you drop 
into prose ! ” 

“ I also advise an immediate descent of the mountain if we 
are to have any time at Fort Putnam,” he added. “ I’ll walk 
on.” 


WEBB'S FATEFUL EXPEDITION, 40J 

They were soon winding down the S’s by which the road 
overcame the steep declivity. On reaching a plateau, before 
the final descent, they came across a wretched hovel, gray and 
storm-beaten, with scarcely strength to stand. Rags took the 
place of broken glass in the windows. A pig was rooting near 
the door-step, on which stood a slatternly woman, regarding 
the party with dull curiosity. 

“ Talk about the elevating influence of mountain scenery ! ” 
said Miss Hargrove ; “there’s a commentary on the theory.” 

“ The theory’s correct,” persisted Burt. “ Their height above 
tide-water and the amount of bad whiskey they consume keep 
our mountaineers elevated most of the time.” 

“Does Lumley live in a place like that?” Miss Hargrove 
asked. 

“He did — in a worse one, if possible,” Webb replied for 
Amy, who hesitated. “ But you should see how it is changed. 
He now has a good vegetable garden fenced in, a rustic porch 
covered with American ivy, and — would you believe it? — an 
actual flower-bed. Within the hut there are two pictures on 
the wall, and the baby creeps on a carpeted floor. Lumley 
says Amy is making a man of him.” 

“ You forget to mention how much you have helped me,” 
Amy added. 

“Come, let us break up this mutual admiration society,” 
said Burt. “ I’m ready for lunch already, and Fort Putnam is 
miles away.” 

The road from the foot of the mountain descends gradually 
through wild, beautiful scenery to West Point. Cro’ Nest rises 
abruptly on the left, and there is a wooded valley on the right, 
with mountains beyond. The trees overhung the road with a 
canopy of gold, emerald, and crimson foliage, and the sunlight 
came to the excursionists as through stained-glass windows. 
Taking a side street at the back of the military post, they soon 
reached a point over which frowned the ruins of the fort, and 
here they left their horses. After a brief climb to the north- 


402 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


ward they entered on an old road, grass-grown and leaf-carpeted, 
and soon passed through the gaping sally-port, on either side 
of which cone-like cedars stood as sentinels. Within the fort 
Nature had been busy for a century softening and obliterating 
the work of man. Cedar-trees — some of which were dying 
from age — grew everywhere, even on the crumbling ramparts. 
Except where ledges of the native rock cropped out, the ground 
was covered with a thick sward. Near the centre of the en- 
closure is the rocky basin. In it bubbles the spring at which 
the more temperate of the ancient garrison may have softened 
the asperities of their New England rum. 

The most extensive ruins are seen by turning sharply to the 
left from the sally-port. Here, yawning like caverns, their 
entrances partially choked by the debris , are six casemates, or 
vaults. They were built of brick, covered with stone, and are 
eighteen feet deep and twelve wide, with an arched roof twelve 
feet high. On the level rampart above them were long, with- 
ered grass, the wild dwarf-rose, and waving golden-rod. The 
outer walls, massy and crumbling, or half torn away by Vandal 
hands, were built in angles, according to the engineering sci- 
ence of the Revolution, except on the west, where the high 
ramparts surmount a mural perpendicular precipice fifty feet in 
height. Inland, across the valley, the mountains were seen, 
rising like rounded billows in every direction, while from the 
north, east, and south the windings of the Hudson were visible 
for fifteen miles. 

All but Amy had visited the spot before, and Burt explored 
the place with her while the rest prepared for lunph. She had 
asked Gertrude to accompany them, but the latter had sought 
refuge with Maggie, and at her side she proposed to remain. 
She scarcely dared trust herself with Burt, "and as the day 
advanced he certainly permitted his eyes to express an interest 
that promised ill for his inexorable purpose of constancy. 

It had become clear to Miss Hargrove that he was restrained 
by something that had occurred between ham and Amy, and 


WEBB'S FATEFUL EXPEDITION. 403 

both her pride and her sense of truth to her friend decided her 
to withdraw as far as possible from his society, and to return to 
the city. 

She and Burt vied with each other in gayety at lunch. When 
it was over they all grouped themselves in the shade of a clump 
of cedars, and looked away upon the wide prospect, Webb 
pointing out object's of past and present interest. Alf and 
Fred speedily grew restless and started off with the gun, John- 
nie’s head sank into her mother’s lap, Miss Hargrove and Burt 
grew quiet and pre-occupied, their eyes looking off into vacancy. 
Webb was saying, “ By one who had imagination how much 
more could be seen from this point than meets the eye ! There, 
on the plain below us, would rise the magnificent rustic colon- 
nade two hundred and twenty feet long and eighty feet wide, 
beneath which Washington gave the great banquet in honor of 
the birth of the Dauphin of France, and on the evening of the 
same day these hills blazed with musketry and rolled back 
the thunder of cannon with which the festivities of the evening 
were begun. Think of the ‘ Father of his Country ’ being there 
in flesh and blood, just as we are here ! In the language of an 
old military journal, ‘ He carried down a dance of twenty couple 
on the green grass, with a graceful and dignified air, having 
Mrs. Knox for his partner.’ In almost a direct line across the 
river you can see the Beverly Robinson house, from which 
Arnold carried on his correspondence with Andr6. You can 
look into the window of the room to which, after hearing of 
the capture of Andr£, he hastened from the breakfast-table. 
To this upper room he immediately summoned his wife, who 
had been the beautiful Margaret Shippen, you remember, and 
told her of his awful peril, then rushed away, leaving the poor, 
terror-stricken woman unconscious on the floor. Would you 
not like to look through the glass at the house where the 
tragedy occurred, Miss Hargrove?” 

At the sound of her name the young girl started visibly, and 
Webb saw that there were tears in her eyes ; but she complied 


404 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


without a word, and he so directed the glass that it covered 
the historic mansion. 

“ How full of sensibility she is ! ” thought innocent Webb, 
taking her quickly suppressed emotion as attribute to his moving 
reminiscences. 

“Oh, Webb, have done with your lugubrious ancient his- 
tory ! ” cried Burt, springing up. 

“ It’s time we were getting ready for a homeward move,” 
said Maggie. “ I’ll go and pack the things.” 

“And I’ll help you,” added Miss Hargrove, hastily following 
her. 

“ Let me look at the house, too,” said Amy, taking the glass ; 
then added, after a moment : “ Poor Margaret Arnold ! It was 
indeed a tragedy, as you said, Webb — a sadder one than these 
old military preparations can suggest. In all his career of war 
and treachery Arnold never inflicted a more cruel'wound.” 

“ How much feeling Miss Hargrove showed ! ” Webb re- 
marked, musingly. 

“Yes,” said Amy, quietly, “she was evidently feeling deeply.” 
Her thought was, “ I don’t believe she heard a word that Webb 
said.” Then, seeing that Burt was helping Maggie and Miss 
Hargrove, she added, “Please point out to me some other 
interesting places.” 

Webb, well pleased, talked on to a listener who did not give 
him her whole attention. She could not forget Gertrude’s 
paleness, and her alternations from extreme gayety to a look 
of such deep sadness as to awaken not a little sympathetic 
curiosity. Amy loved her friend truly, and it did not seem 
strange to her that Miss Hargrove was deeply interested in 
Burt, since they had been much thrown together, and since she 
probably owed her life to him. Amy’s resentment towards 
Burt had passed away. She had found that her pride, merely, 
and not her heart, was wounded by his new passion, and she 
already began to feel that she never could have any such regard 
for him as her friend was possibly cherishing. Therefore it was, 


WEBB 'S FATEFUL EXPEDITION. 


405 


perhaps, not unnatural that her tranquil regard should prove 
unsatisfying to Burt in contrast with the passion of which Miss 
Hargrove was capable. She had seen his vain efforts to remain 
loyal, and had smiled at them, proposing to let matters take 
their course, and to give little aid in extricating him from his 
dilemma. But, if she had interpreted her friend’s face aright, 
she could no longer stand aloof, an amused and slightly satirical 
spectator. If Burt deserved some punishment, Gertrude did 
not, and she was inclined to guess the cause of the latter’s haste 
to return to the city. 

It may thus be seen that Amy was fast losing her unsophisti- 
cated girlhood. While Burt’s passionate words had awakened 
no corresponding feeling, they had taught her that she was no 
longer a child, since she could inspire such words. Her inti- 
macy with Miss Hargrove, and the latter’s early confidences, 
had enlarged her ideas on some subjects. As the bud of a 
flower passes slowly through long and apparently slow stages 
of immaturity and at last suddenly opens to the light, so she 
had reached that age when a little experience suggests a great 
deal, and the influences around her tended to develop certain 
thoughts very rapidly. She saw that her friend had not been 
brought up in English seclusion. Admirers by the score had 
flocked around her, and, as she had often said, she proposed 
to marry for love. “ I have the name of being cold,” she once 
told Amy, “ but I know I can love as can few others, and I 
shall know it well when I do love, too.” The truth was daily 
growing clearer to Amy that under our vivid American skies 
the grand passion is not a fiction of romance or a quiet arrange- 
ment between the parties concerned. 

Miss Hargrove had not misjudged herself. Her tropical 
nature, when once kindled, burned with no feeble, wavering 
flame. She had passed the point of criticism of Burt. She 
loved him, and to her fond eyes he seemed more worthy of her 
love than any man she had ever before known. But she had 
not passed beyond her sense of truth and duty, and the feeling 


40 6 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


came to her that she must go away at once and engage in that 
most pathetic of all struggles that fall to woman’s lot. As the 
conviction grew clear on this bright October day, she felt that 
her heart was bleeding internally. Tears would come into her 
eyes at the dreary prospect. Her former brilliant society life 
now looked as does an opera-house in the morning, when the 
gilding and tinsel that flashed and sparkled the evening before 
are seen to be dull and tarnished. Burt had appeared to es- 
pecial advantage in his mountain home. He excelled in all 
manly sports. His tall, fine figure and unconscious, easy man- 
ner were as full of grace as deficient in conventionality, and she 
thought with disgust of many of her former admirers, who were 
nothing if not stylish after the arbitrary mode of the hour. At 
the same time he had proved that he could be at home in a 
drawing-room on the simple ground of good-breeding, and not 
because he had been run through fashion’s latest mould. The 
grand scenery around her suggested the manhood that kindled 
her imagination — a manhood strong, fearless, and not degen- 
erated from that sturdy age which had made these scenes 
historic. 

By the time they were ready to start homeward the southern 
side of Cro’ Nest was in deep blue shadow. They bowled 
along rapidly till they came to the steep ascent, and then the 
boys and the . young men sprang out. “ Would you like to 
walk, Gertrude?” Amy asked, for she was bent on throwing 
her friend and Burt together during the witching twilight that 
was coming on apace. 

“ I fear I am too tired, unless the load is heavy,” she replied. 

“ Oh, no, indeed,” said Webb. “ It does not take long to 
reach the top of the mountain on this side, and then it’s chiefly 
down hill the rest of the way.” 

Amy, who had been sitting with Webb and Johnnie as be- 
fore, said to Miss Hargrove, “ Won’t you step across the seats 
and keep me company?” 

She complied, but not willingly. She was so utterly unhappy 


WEBB'S FATEFUL EXPEDITION. 


407 


that she wished to be left to herself as far as possible. In her 
realization of a loss that seemed immeasurable, she was a little 
resentful towards Amy, feeling that she had been more frank 
and confidential than her friend. If Amy had claims on Burt, 
why had she not spoken of them ? why had she permitted her 
for whom she professed such strong friendship to drift almost 
wholly unwarned upon so sad a fate ? and why was she now 
clearly trying to bring together Burt and the one to whom even 
he felt that he had no right to speak in more than a friendly 
manner? While she was making such immense sacrifices to be 
true, she felt that Amy was maintaining an unfair reticence, if 
not actually beguiling herself and Burt into a display of weak- 
ness for which they would be condemned — or, at least, he 
would be, and love identifies itself with its object. These 
thoughts, having once been admitted, grew upon her mind 
rapidly, for it is hard to suffer through another and maintain a 
gentle charity. Therefore she was silent when she took her 
seat by Amy, and when the latter gave her a look that was like 
a caress, she did not return it. 

“ You are tired, Gertrude,” Amy began, gently. “Indeed, 
you look ill. You must stay with me to-night, and I’ll watch 
over you like Sairy Gamp.” 

So far from responding to Amy’s playful and friendly words, 
Miss Hargrove said, hastily, 

“Oh, no, I had better go right on home. I don’t feel very 
well, and shall be better at home ; and I must begin to get 
ready to-morrow for my return to the city.” 

Amy would not be repulsed, but, putting her arm around her 
friend, she looked into her eyes, and asked : 

“Why are you so eager to return to New York? Are you 
tiring of your country friends? You certainly told me that 
you expected to stay till November.” 

“ Fred must go back to school to-morrow,” said Gertrude, 
in a constrained voice, “ and I do not think it is well to leave 
him alone in the city house.” 


408 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“You are withdrawing your confidence from me,” said Amy, 
sadly. 

“Have you ever truly given me yours?” was the low, im- 
petuous response. “ No. If you had, I should not be the un- 
happy girl I am to-night. Well, since you wish to know the 
whole truth you shall. You said you could trust me implicitly, 
and I promised to deserve your trust. If you had said to me 
that Burt was bound to you when I told you that I was heart- 
whole and fancy-free, I should have been on my guard. Is it 
natural that I should be indifferent to the man who risked his 
life to save mine ? Why have you left me so long in his society 
without a hint of warning ? But I shall keep my word. I shall 
not try to snatch happiness from another.” 

Johnnie’s tuneful little voice was piping a song, and the 
rumble of the wheels over a stony road prevented Maggie, on 
the last seat, from hearing anything. 

The clasp of Amy’s arm tightened. “ Now you shall stay 
with me to-night,” she said. “ I cannot explain here and now. 
See, Burt has turned, and is coming towards us. I pledge you 
my word he can never be to me more than a brother. I do not 
love him except as a brother, and never have, and you can 
snatch no happiness from me, except by treating me with dis- 
trust and going away.” 

“Oh, Amy,” began Miss Hargrove, in tones and with a look 
that gave evidence of the chaotic bewilderment of her mind. 

“ Hush ! We are not very lonely, thank you, Mr. Burt. You 
look, as far as I can see you through the dusk, as if you were 
commiserating us as poor forlorn creatures, but we have some 
resources within ourselves.” 

“ The dusk is, indeed, misleading. We are the forlorn crea- 
tures who have no resources. Won’t you please take us in? ” 

“Take you in ! What do you take us for? I assure you we 
are very simple, honest people.” 

“ In that case I shall have no fears, but clamber in at once. 
I feel as if I had been on a twenty-mile tramp.” 


WEBB'S FATEFUL EXPEDITION. 469 

“ What an implied compliment to our exhilarating society ! ” 

“ Indeed there is — a very strong one. I’ve been so im- 
mensely exhilarated that, in the re-action, I’m almost faint.” 

“ Maggie,” cried Amy, “ do take care of Burt ; he’s going to 
faint.” 

“ He must wait till we come to the next brook, and then we’ll 
put him in it.” 

“ Webb,” said Amy, looking over her shoulder at the young 
man, who was now following the carriage, “ is there anything 
the matter with you, also ? ” 

“ Nothing more than usual.” 

“ Oh, your trouble, whatever it may be, is chronic. Well, 
well, to think that we poor women may be the only survivors of 
this tremendous expedition.” 

“That would be most natural — the survival of the fittest, 
you know.” 

“ I don’t think your case serious. Science is uppermost in 
your mind, as ever. You ought to live a thousand years, Webb, 
to see the end of all your theories.” 

“ I fear it wouldn’t be the millennium for me, and that I 
should have more perplexing theories at its end than now.” 

“ That’s the way with men — they are never satisfied,” re- 
marked Miss Hargrove. “ Mr. Clifford, this is your expedition, 
and it’s getting so dark that I shall feel safer if you are driving.” 

“ Oh, Gertrude, you have no confidence in me whatever. As 
if I would break your neck — or heart either !” Amy whispered 
in her friend’s ear. 

“You are a very mysterious little woman,” was the reply, 
given in like manner, “ and need hours of explanation.” Then, 
to Webb : “ Mr. Clifford, I’ve much more confidence in you 
than in Amy. Her talk is so giddy that I want a sober hand 
on the reins.” 

“To which Mr. Clifford do you refer?” asked Burt. 

“Oh, are you reviving? I thought you had become ui^ 
conscious.” 


4io 


NATURE S SERIAL STORY. 


“ I’m not wholly past feeling.” 

“ I want one to drive who can see his way, not feel it,” was 
the laughing response. 

Amy, too, was laughing silently, as she reined in the horses. 
“What are you two girls giggling about?” said Burt, becoming 
a little uncomfortable. “ The idea of two such refined creatures 
giggling ! ” 

“Well,” exclaimed Webb, “what am I to do? I can’t stand 
up between you and drive.” 

“Gertrude, you must clamber around and sustain Burt’s 
drooping spirits.” 

“ Indeed, Amy, you must know best how to do that,” was 
the reply. “As guest, I claim a little of the society of the 
commander-in-chief. You had it coming over.” 

“ I’ll solve the vexed question,” said Burt, much nettled, and 
leaping out. 

“Now, Burt, the question isn’t vexed, and don’t you be,” 
cried Amy, springing lightly over to the next seat. “ There are 
Fred and Alf, too, with the gun. Let us all get home as soon 
as possible, for it’s nearly time for supper already. Come, I 
shall feel much hurt if you don’t keep me company.” 

Burt at once realized the absurdity of showing pique, al- 
though he felt that there was something in the air which he did 
not understand. He came back laughing, with much apparent 
good-nature, and saying, “ I thought I’d soon bring one or the 
other of you to terms.” 

“ Oh, what a diplomat you are ! ” said Amy, with difficulty 
restraining a new burst of merriment. 

They soon reached the summit, and paused to give the horses 
a breathing. The young moon hung in the west, and its silver 
crescent symbolized to Miss Hargrove the hope that was grow- 
ing in her heart. “ Amy,” she said, “ don’t you remember the 
song we arranged from ‘The Culprit Fay’? We certainly 
should sing it here on this mountain. You take the solo.” 

Amy sang, in clear soprano : 


WEBB'S FATEFUL EXPEDITION. 


411 

u * Th# moon looks down on old Cro’ Nest, 

She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, 

And seems his huge gray form to throw 
In a silver cone on the wave below.’ ” 

“ Imagine the cone and wave, please,” said Miss Hargrove ; 
and then, in an alto rich with her heart’s deep feeling, she sang 
with Amy : 

“ ‘ Ouphe and goblin ! imp and sprite ! 

Elf of eve ! and starry fay ! 

Ye that love the moon’s soft light, 

Hither — hither wend your way; 

Twine ye in a jocund ring; 

Sing and trip it merrily, 

Hand to hand and wing to wing, 

Round the wild witch-hazel tree.’ ” 

“ If I were a goblin, I’d come, for music like that,” cried 
Burt, as they started rapidly homeward. 

“You are much too big to suggest a culprit fay,” said Amy. 

“ But the description of the fay’s charmer is your portrait,” 
he replied, in a low tone : 

“ ‘ But well I know her sinless mind 
Is pure as the angel forms above, 

Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind, 

Such as a spirit well might love.’ ” 

“Oh, no; you are mistaken, I’m not meek in the least. 
Think of the punishment : 

“ ‘ Tied to the hornet’s shardy wings, 

Toss’d on the pricks of nettles’ stings ; ’ 

\ 

you know the rest.” 

“What witchery has got into you to-night, Amy?” 

“Do you think I’m a witch? Beware, then. Witches can 
read men’s thoughts.” 


412 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ That last song was so good that I, for one, would be glad 
of more,” cried Webb. 

“ You men must help us, then,” said Miss Hargrove, and in 
a moment the wild, dim forest was full of melody, the rocks 
and highlands sending back soft and unheeded echoes. 

Burt, meantime, was occupied with disagreeable reflections. 
Perhaps both the girls at last understood him, and had been 
comparing notes, to his infinite disadvantage. His fickleness 
and the dilemma he was in may have become a jest between 
them. What could he do ? Resentment, except against him- 
self, was impossible. If Amy understood him, in what other 
way could she meet any approach to sentiment on his part than 
by a laughing scorn ? If Miss Hargrove had divined the past, 
or had received a hint concerning it, why should she not shun 
his society? He was half- desperate, and yet felt that any show 
of embarrassment or anger would only make him appear more 
ridiculous. The longer he thought the more sure he was that 
the girls were beginning to guess his position, and that his only 
course was a polite indifference to both. But this policy prom- 
ised to lead through a thorny path, and to what ? In impotent 
rage at himself he ground his teeth during the pauses between 
the stanzas that he was compelled to sing. Such was the dis- 
cord in his heart that he felt like uttering notes that would 
make “ night hideous.” 

He was still more distraught when, on their return, they 
found Mr. Hargrove’s carriage in waiting, and Amy, after a 
brief conference with her friend in her room, came down pre- 
pared to accompany Miss Hargrove home after supper. In 
spite of all his efforts at ease and gayety, his embarrassment 
and trouble were evident. He had observed Miss Hargrove’s 
pallor and her effort to keep up at Fort Putnam, and could not 
banish the hope that she sympathized with him ; but now the 
young girl was demurely radiant. Her color had come again, 
and the lustre of her beautiful eyes was dazzling. Yet they 
avoided his, and she had far more to say to Webb and the 


WEBB'S FATEFUL EXPEDITION. 


413 


others than to him. Webb, too, was perplexed, for during the 
day Amy had been as bewildering to him as to Burt. But he 
was in no uncertainty as to his course, which was simply to wait. 
He, with Burt, saw the girls to the carriage, and the latter said 
good-night rather coldly and stiffly. Alf and Fred parted 
regretfully, with the promise of a correspondence which would 
be as remarkable for its orthography as for its natural history. 


414 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER LII. 

burt’s sore dilemma. 

M R. HARGROVE greeted Amy cordially, but his ques- 
tioning eyes rested oftenest on his daughter. Her ex- 
pression and manner caused him to pace his study long and 
late that night. Mrs. Hargrove was very polite and a little 
stately. She felt that she existed on a plane above Amy. 

The young girls soon pleaded fatigue, and retired. Once in 
the seclusion of their room they forgot all about their innocent 
fib, and there was not a trace of weariness in their manner. 
While Burt was staring at his dismal, tangled fortune, seeing no 
solution of his difficulties, a fateful conference relating to him 
was taking place. Amy did not look like a scomer, as with a 
sister’s love and a woman’s tact she pleaded his cause and 
palliated his course to one incapable of harsh judgment. But 
she felt that she must be honest with her friend, and that the 
whole truth would be best and safest. Her conclusion was : 
“ No man who loved you, and whom you encouraged, would 
ever change. I know now that I never had a particle of such 
feeling as you have for Burt, and can see that I naturally chilled 
and quenched his regard for me.” 

Miss Hargrove’s dark eyes flashed ominously as she spoke 
of Burt or of any man proving faithless after she had given 
encouragement. 

“But it wasn’t possible for me to give him any real en- 
couragement,” Amy persisted. “ I’ve never felt as you do, and 
am not sure that I want to for a long time.” 


BURT'S SORE DILEMMA. 


415 


“ How about Webb?” Miss Hargrove almost said, but she 
suppressed the words, feeling that since he had not revealed his 
secret she had no right to do so. Indeed, as she recalled- how 
sedulously he had guarded it she was sure he would not thank 
her for suggesting it to Amy before she was ready for the 
knowledge. Impetuous as Miss Hargrove was at times, she 
had too fine a nature to be careless of the rights^ and feelings 
of others. Moreover, she felt that Webb had been her ally, 
whether consciously or not, and he should have his chance with 
all the help she could give him, but she was wise enough to 
know that obtrusion and premature aid are often disastrous. 

The decision, after this portentous conference, was : “ Mr. 
Burt must seek me, and seek very zealously. I know you well 
enough, Amy, to be sure that you will give him no hints. It’s 
bad enough to love a man before I’ve been asked to do so. 
What an utterly perverse and unmanageable thing one’s heart 
is ! I shall do no angling, however, nor shall I permit any.” 

“You may stand up straight, Gertrude,” said Amy, laughing, 
“ but don’t lean over backward.” 

Burt entertained half a dozen wild and half-tragic projects 
before he fell asleep late that night, but finally, in utter self- 
disgust, settled down on the prosaic and not irrational one 
of helping through with the fall work on the farm, and then of 
seeking some business or profession to which he could give his 
whole mind. “ As to ladies’ society,” he concluded, savagely, 
“ I’ll shun it hereafter till I’m grown up.” 

Burt always attained a certain kind of peace and the power 
to sleep after he had reached an irrevocable decision. 

During the night the wind veered to the east, and a cold, 
dismal rain-storm set in. Dull and dreary indeed the day 
proved to Burt. He could not go out and put his resolution 
into force. He fumed about the house, restless, yet reticent. 
He would rather have fought dragons than keep company with 
his own thoughts in inaction. All the family supposed he missed 
Amy, except Webb, who hoped he missed some one else. 


41 6 NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 

“Why don’t you go over and bring Amy home, Burt?” his 
mother asked, at the dinner-table. “ The house seems empty 
without her, and everybody is moping. Even father has fretted 
over his newspaper, and wished Amy was here.” 

“ Why can’t they print an edition of the paper for old men 
and dark days?” said the old gentleman, discontentedly. 

“Well,” remarked Leonard, leaning back in his chair, and 
looking humorously at Maggie, “I’m sorry for you young fel- 
lows, but I’m finding the day serene.” 

“ Of course you are,” snapped Burt. “ With an arm-chair to 
doze in and a dinner to look forward to, what more do you 
wish ? As for Webb, he can always get astride of some scien- 
tific hobby, no matter how bad the weather is.” 

“As for Burt, he can bring Amy home, and then every one 
will be satisfied,” added his mother, smiling. 

Thus a new phase of his trial presented itself to poor Burt. 
He must either face those two girls after their night’s conclave, 
with all its possible revelations, or else awaken at once very 
embarrassing surmises. Why shouldn’t he go for Amy? all 
would ask. “ Well, why shouldn’t I ? ” he thought. “ I may 
as well face it out.” And in a mood of mingled recklessness 
and fear he drove through the storm. When his name was 
announced the girls smiled significantly, but went down looking 
as unconscious as if they had not spoken of him in six months, 
and Burt could not have been more suave, non-committal, and 
impartially polite if these ladies had been as remote from his 
thoughts as one of Webb’s theories. At the same time he 
intimated that he would be ready to return when Amy was. 

At parting the friends gave each other a little look of dismay, 
and he caught it from the same telltale mirror that persisted in 
taking a part in this drama. 

“ Aha ! ” thought the young fellow, “ so they have been ex- 
changing confidences, and my manner is disconcerting — not 
what was expected. If I have become a jest between them it 
shall be a short-lived one. Miss Hargrove, with all her city 


BURT'S SORE DILEMMA . 


417 


experience, shall find that I’m not so young and verdant but 
that I can take a hand in this game also. As for Amy, I now- 
know she never cared for me, and I don’t believe she ever 
would ; ” and so he went away with laughing repartee, and did 
not see the look of deep disappointment with which he was 
followed. 

Amy was perplexed and troubled. Her innocent schemes 
might not be so easily accomplished if Burt would be wrong- 
headed. She was aware of the dash of recklessness in his 
character, and feared that under the impulse of pride he might 
spoil everything, or, at least, cause much needless delay. 

With the fatality of blundering which usually attends upon 
such occasions, he did threaten to fulfil her fears, and so suc- 
cessfully that Amy was in anxiety, and Miss Hargrove grew as 
pale as she was resolute not to make the least advance, while 
poor Webb felt that his suspense never would end. Burt treated 
Amy in an easy, fraternal manner. He engaged actively in the 
task of gathering and preparing for market the large crop of 
apples, and he openly broached the subject of going into a 
business of some kind away from home, where, he declared, 
with a special meaning for Amy, he was not needed, adding : 
“ It’s time I was earning my salt and settling down to something 
for life. Webb and Len can take care of all the land, and I 
don’t believe I was cut out for a farmer.” 

He not only troubled Amy exceedingly, but he perplexed all 
the family, for it seemed that he was decidedly taking a new 
departure. One evening, a day or two after he had introduced 
the project of going elsewhere, his father, to Amy’s dismay, 
suggested that he should go to the far West and look after a 
large tract of land which the old gentleman had bought some 
years before. It was said that a railroad was to be built through 
it, and, if so, the value of the property would be greatly en- 
hanced, and steps should be taken to get part of it into the 
market. Burt took hold of the scheme with eagerness, and was 
for going as soon as possible. Looking to note the effect of 


418 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


his words upon Amy, he saw that her expression was not only 
reproachful, but almost severe. Leonard heartily approved of 
the plan. Webb was silent, and in deep despondency, feeling 
that if Burt went now nothing would be settled. He saw Amy’s 
aversion to the project also, and misinterpreted it. 

She was compelled to admit that the prospects were growing 
very dark. Burt might soon depart for an indefinite absence, 
and Miss Hargrove return to the city. Amy, who had looked 
upon the mutations in her own prospects so quietly, was almost 
feverishly eager to aid her friend. She feared she had blun- 
dered on the mountain ride. Burt’s pride had been wounded, 
and he had received the impression that his April-like moods 
had been discussed satirically. It was certain that he had been 
very deeply interested in Gertrude, and that he was throwing 
away not only his happiness, but also hers ; and Amy felt her- 
self in some degree to blame. Therefore she was bent upon 
ending the senseless misunderstanding, but found insurmount- 
able embarrassments on every side. Miss Hargrove was prouder 
than Burt. Wild horses could not draw her to the Cliffords’. 
With a pale, resolute face, she declined even to put herself in 
the way of receiving the least advance. Amy would gladly have 
taken counsel of Webb, but could not do so without revealing 
her friend’s secret, and also disclosing mere surmises about 
Burt, which, although amounting to conviction in her mind, 
could not be mentioned. Therefore, from the very delicacy of 
the situation, she felt herself helpless. Nature was her ally, 
however, and if all that was passing in Burt’s mind had been 
manifest, the ardent little schemer would not have been so 
despondent. 

The best hope of Burt had been that he had checkmated the 
girls in their disposition to make jesting comparisons. He 
would retire with so much nonchalance as to leave nothing to 
be said. They would find complete inaction and silence hard 
to combat. But the more he thought of it the less it seemed 
like an honorable retreat. He had openly wooed one girl, he 


BURT'S SORE DILEMMA. 


419 


had since lost his heart to another, and she had given him a 
glimpse of strong regard, if not more. His thoughts were busy 
with her every word and glance. How much had his tones and 
eyes revealed to her ? Might she not think him a heartless flirt 



THE ORCHARD HARVEST. 


if he continued to avoid her and went away without a word ? 
Would it not be better to be laughed at as one who did not 
know his own mind than be despised for deliberate trifling? 
Amy had asked him to go and spend an evening with her friend, 
and he had pleaded weariness as an excuse. Her incredulous 


420 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


look and rather cool manner since had not been re-assuring. 
She had that very morning broached the subject of a chestnut- 
ting party for the following day, and he had promptly said that 
he was going to the city to make inquiries about routes to the 
West. 

“Why, Burt, you can put off your trip to town for a day,” 
said his mother. “ If you are to leave us so soon you should 
make the most of the days that are left.” 

“ That is just what he is doing,” Amy remarked, satirically. 
“He has become absorbed in large business considerations. 
Those of us who have not such resources are of no conse- 
quence.” 

The old people and Leonard believed that Amy was not 
pleased with the idea of Burt’s going away, but they felt that 
she was a little unreasonable, since the young fellow was rather 
to be commended for wishing to take life more seriously. But 
her words rankled in Burt’s mind. He felt that she understood 
him better than the others, and that he was not winning respect 
from her. In the afternoon he saw her, with Alf and Johnnie, 
starting for the chestnut- trees, and although she passed not far 
away she gave him only a slight greeting, and did not stop for 
a little merry banter, as usual. The young fellow was becoming 
very unhappy, and he felt that his position was growing intol- 
erable. That Amy should be cold towards him, or, indeed, 
towards any one, was an unheard-of thing, and he knew that 
she must feel that there was good reason for her manner. “ And 
is there not? ” he asked himself, bitterly. “ What are she and 
Miss Hargrove thinking about me ? ” 

The more he thought upon the past the more awkward 
and serious appeared his dilemma, and his long Western jour- 
ney, which at first he had welcomed as promising a diversion 
of excitement and change, now began to appear like exile. He 
dreaded to think of the memories he must take with him ; still 
more he deprecated the thoughts he would leave behind him. 
His plight made him so desperate that he suddenly left the 


BURTS SORE DILEMMA . 


421 


orchard where he was gathering apples, went to the house, put 
on his riding-suit, and in a few moments was galloping furiously 
away on his black horse. With a renewal of hope Webb 
watched his proceedings, and with many surmises, Amy, from 
a distant hill-side, saw him passing at a break-neck pace. 


. i 


422 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER LIII. 


burt’s resolve. 


OR the first two or three miles Burt rode as if he were try- 



i ing to leave care behind him, scarcely heeding what direc- 
tion he took. When at last he reined his reeking horse he 
found himself near the entrance of the lane over which willows 
met in a Gothic arch. He yielded to the impulse to visit the 
spot which had seen the beginning of so fateful an acquaint- 
ance, and had not gone far when a turn in the road revealed 
a group whose presence almost made his heart stand still for a 
moment. Miss Hargrove had stopped her horse on the very 
spot where he had aided her in her awkward predicament. Her 
back was towards him, and her great dog was at her side, look- 
ing up into her face, as if in mute sympathy with his fair 
mistress. 

Hope sprang up in Burt’s heart. She could not# be there 
with bowed head if she despised him. Her presence seemed 
in harmony with that glance by which, when weak and unnerved 
after escaping from deadly peril, she had revealed possibly more 
than gratitude to the one who had rescued her. His love rose 
like an irresistible tide, and he resolved that before he left his 
home Amy and Miss Hargrove should know the whole truth, 
whatever might be the result. Meanwhile he was rapidly ap- 
proaching the young girl, and the dog’s short bark of recogni- 
tion was her first intimation of Burt’s presence. Her impulse 
was to fly, but in a second she saw the absurdity of this course, 
and yet she was greatly embarrassed, and would rather have 


BURT'S RESOLVE. 


423 


been discovered by him at almost any other point of the globe. 
She was going to the city on the morrow, and as she had drawn 
rein on this spot and realized the bitterness of her disappoint- 
ment, tears would come. She wiped them hastily away, but 
dreaded lest their traces should be seen. 

Turning her horse, she met Burt with a smile that her moist 
eyes belied, and said : “ I’m glad you do not find me in such 
an awkward plight as when we first met here. I’ve been giving 
my horse a rest. Do you not want a gallop ? ” and away like 
the wind she started homeward. 

Burt easily kept at her side, but conversation was impossible. 
At last he said : “ My horse is very tired, Miss Hargrove. At 
this pace you will soon be home, and I shall feel that you are 
seeking to escape from me. Have I fallen so very low in your 
estimation? ” 

“Why,” she exclaimed, in well-feigned surprise, as she 
checked her horse, “ what have you done that you should fall 
in my estimation?” 

“ I shall tell you before very long,” he said, with an expres- 
sion that seemed almost tragic. 

“ Mr. Clifford, you surprise me. Your horse is all of a foam 
too. Surely this brief gallop cannot have so tried your superb 
beast. What has happened ? Amy is not ill, or any one ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” he replied, with a grim laugh. “ Every one is well 
and complacent. I had been riding rapidly before I met you. 
My horse has been idle for some days, and I had to run the 
spirit out of him. Amy wishes to have a chestnutting party to- 
morrow. Won’t you join us ? ” 

“ I’m sorry, Mr. Clifford, but I return to the city to-morrow 
afternoon, and was coming over in the morning to say good-by 
to Amy and your father and mother.” 

“ I am very sorry too,” he said, in tones that gave emphasis 
to his words. 

She turned upon him a swift, questioning glance, but her eyes 
instantly fell before his intense gaze. 


424 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ Oh, well,” she said, lightly, “we’ve had a very pleasant sum* 
mer, and all things must come to an end, you know.” Then 
she went on speaking, in a matter-of-fact way, of the need of 
looking after Fred, who was alone in town, and of getting the 
city house in order, and of her plans for the winter, adding : 
“ As there is a great deal of fruit on the place, papa does not 
feel that he can leave just yet. You know he goes back and 
forth often, and so his business does not suffer. But I can just 
as well go down now, and nearly all my friends have returned 
to town.” 

“ All your friends, Miss Hargrove ? ” 

“ Amy has promised to visit me soon,” she^said, hastily. 

“ It would seem that I am not down on your list of friends,” 
he began, gloomily. 

“ Why, Mr. Clifford, I’m sure papa and I would be glad to 
have you call whenever you are in town.” 

“ I fear I shall have to disappoint Mr. Hargrove,” he said, a 
little satirically. “ I’m going West the last of this month, and 
may be absent much of the winter. I expect to look about in 
that section for some opening in business.” 

“ Indeed,” she replied, in tones which were meant to convey 
but little interest, yet which had a slight tremor in spite of her 
efforts. “ It will be a very great change for you.” 

“ Perhaps you think that constitutes its chief charm.” 

“ Mr. Clifford,” she said, “what chance have I had to think 
about it at all? You have never mentioned the matter.” (Amy 
had, however, and Gertrude had not only thought about it, but 
dreamed of it, as if she had been informed that on a certain 
date the world would end.) “ Is it not a rather sudden plan? ” 
she asked, a little hesitatingly. 

“ Yes, it is. My father has a large tract of land in the West, 
and it’s time it was looked after. Isn’t it natural that I should 
think of doing something in life ? I fear there is an impression 
in your mind that I entertain few thoughts beyond having a 
good time.” 


BURT'S RESOLVE. 


425 


“To have a good time in life,” she said, smiling at him, “is 
a very serious matter, worthy of any one’s attention. It would 
seem that few accomplish it.” 

“ And I greatly fear that I shall share in the ill-success of 
the majority.” 

“You are much mistaken. A man has no end of resources. 
You will soon be enjoying the excitement of travel and enter- 
prise in the West.’’ 

“ And you the excitement of society and conquest in the city. 
Conquests, however, must be almost wearisome to you, Miss 
Hargrove, you make them so easily.” 

“ You overrate my power. I certainly should soon weary of 
conquests were I making them. Women are different from men 
in this respect. Where in history do we read of a man who 
was satiated with conquest ? Well, here we are at home. Won’t 
you come in? Papa will be glad to see you.” 

“Are you going to the city to-morrow?” 

“ Yes.” 

“May I call on you this evening?” 

“ Certainly. Bring Amy with you, won’t you ? ” 

“Will you forgive me if I come alone? ” 

“I’ll try to. I suppose Amy will be tired from nutting.” 

He did not reply, but lifted his hat gravely, mounted his 
horse, and galloped away as if he were an aid bearing a message 
that might avert a battle. 

Miss Hargrove hastened to her room, and took off her hat 
with trembling hands. Burt’s pale, resolute face told her that 
the crisis in her life had come. And yet she did not fully un- 
derstand him. If he meant to speak, why had he not done so ? 
why had he not asked permission to consult her father ? 

Mr. Hargrove, from his library window, saw Burt’s formal 
parting, and concluded that his fears or hopes — he scarcely 
knew which were uppermost, so deep was his love for his 
daughter, and so painful would it be to see her unhappy — 
were not to be fulfilled. By a great effort Gertrude appeared 


426 NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 

not very distraite at dinner, nor did she mention Burt, except 
in a casual manner, in reply to a question from her mother, but 
her father thought he detected a strong and suppressed excite- 
ment. 

She excused herself early from the table, and said she must 
finish packing for her departure. 


A GENTLE EXORCIST. 


427 


CHAPTER LIV. 

A GENTLE EXORCIST. 

B URT’S black horse was again white before he approached 
his home. In the distance he saw Amy returning, the 
children running on before, Alf whooping like a small Indian to 
some playmate who was answering farther away. The gor- 
geous sunset lighted up the still more brilliant foliage, and made 
the scene a fairy-land. But Burt had then no more eye for 
nature than a man would have who had staked his all on the 
next throw of the dice. Amy was alone, and now was his 
chance to intercept her before she reached the house. Ima- 
gine her surprise as she saw him make his horse leap the inter- 
vening fences, and come galloping towards her. 

“ Burt,” she cried, as he, in a moment or two, reined up near 
her, “ you will break your neck ! ” 

“ It wouldn’t matter much,” he said, grimly. “ I fear a worse 
fate than that.” 

“What do you mean?” she asked, in alarm. “What has 
happened? ” 

He threw the bridle over a stake in the fence, and the horse 
was glad to rest, with drooping head. Then he came and 
stood beside her, his face flushed, and his mouth twitching with 
excitement and strong feeling. For a moment he could not 
speak. 

“ Burt,” she said, “what is the matter? What do you fear? ” 
“ I fear your scorn, Amy,” he began, impetuously ; “ I fear 
I shall lose your respect forever. But I can’t go on any longer 


428 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


detesting myself and feeling that you and Miss Hargrove de- 
spise me. I may seem to you and her a fickle fool, a man of 
straw, but you shall both know the truth. I sha’n’t go away a 
coward. I can at least be honest, and then you may think what 
you please of my weakness and vacillation. You cannot think 
worse things than I think myself, but you must not imagine that 
I am a cold-blooded, deliberate trifler, for that has never been 
true. I know you don’t care for me, and never did.” 

“ Indeed, Burt, you are mistaken. I do care for you im- 
mensely,” said Amy, eagerly clasping his arm with both her 
hands. 

“Amy, Amy,” said Burt, in a low, desperate tone, “think 
how few short months have passed since I told you I loved you, 
and protested I would wait till I was gray. You have seen me 
giving my thoughts to another, and in your mind you expect to 
see me carried away by a half-dozen more. You are mistaken, 
but it will take a long time to prove it.” 

“ No, Burt, I understand you better than you think. Ger- 
trude has inspired in you a very different feeling from the one 
you had for me. I think you are loving now with a man’s love, 
and won’t get over it very soon, if you ever do. You have seen, 
you must have felt, that my love for you was only that of a sis- 
ter, and of course you soon began to feel towards me in the 
same way. I don’t believe I would have married you had you 
waited an age. Don’t fret, I’m not going to break my heart 
about you.” 

“ I should think not, nor will any one else. Oh, Amy, I so 
despised myself that I have been half-desperate.” 

“Despised yourself because you love a girl like Gertrude 
Hargrove ! I never knew a man to do a more natural and sen- 
sible thing, whether she gave you encouragement or not. If I 
were a man I would make love to her, rest assured, and she 
would have to refuse me more than once to be rid of me.” 

Burt took a long breath of immense relief. “ You are 
heavenly kind,” he said. “Are you sure you won’t despise 



(t INDEED, BURT, I DO CARE FOR YOU. 







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A GENTLE EXORCIST. 


429 

me ? I could not bear that. It seems to me that I have done 
such an awfully mean thing in making love to you in my own 
home, and then in changing.” 

Her laugh rang out merrily. “ Fate has been too strong for 
you, and I think — I mean — I hope, it has been kind. Bless 
you, Burt, I could never get up any such feeling as sways you. 
I should always be disappointing, and you would have found 
out, sooner or later, that your best chance would be to discover 
some one more responsive. Since you have been so frank, I’ll 
be so too. I was scarcely more ready for your words last 
spring than Johnnie, but I was simple enough to think that in 
half a dozen years or so we might be married if all thought it 
was best, and my pride was a little hurt when I saw what — 
what — well, Gertrude’s influence over you. But I’ve grown 
much older the last few months, and know now that my 
thoughts were those of a child. My feeling for you is simply 
that of a sister, and I don’t believe it would ever have changed. 
Who knows? I might eventually have an acute attack also, 
and then I should be in a worse predicament than yours.” 

“ But you will be my loving sister as long as you live, Amy ? 
You will believe that I have a little manhood if given a chance 
to show it? ” 

“ I believe it now, Burt, and I can make you a hundred fold 
better sister than wife. The idea ! It seems but the other day 
I was playing with dolls. Here, now, cheer up. You have 
judged yourself too harshly ; ” and she looked at him so 
smilingly and affectionately that he took her in his arms and 
kissed her again and again, exclaiming, “You can count on one 
brother to the last drop of his blood. Oh, Amy, whatever hap- 
pens now, I won’t lose courage. Miss Hargrove will have to 
say no a dozen times before she is through with me.” 

At this moment Webb, from the top of a tall ladder in the 
orchard, happened to glance that way, and saw the embrace. 
He instantly descended, threw down his basket of apples, and 
with it all hope. Burt had won Amy at last. The coolness 


430 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


between them had been but a misunderstanding, which appar- 
ently had been banished most decidedly. He mechanically 
took down his ladder and placed it on the ground, then went to 
his room to prepare for supper. 

“Burt,” cried Amy, when they were half-way home, “you 
have forgotten your horse.” 

“ If he were Pegasus, I should have forgotten him to-day. 
Won’t you wait for me?” 

“ Oh, yes, I’ll do anything for you.” 

“Will you?” he said, eagerly. “Will you tell me if you 
think Miss Hargrove — ” 

“No, I won’t tell you anything. The idea ! After she has 
refused you half a dozen times, I may, out of pity, intercede a 
little. Go get your horse, smooth your brow, and be sensible, 
or you’ll have Webb and Leonard poking fun at you. Suppose 
they have seen you galloping over fences and ditches like one 
possessed.” 

“Well, I was possessed, and never was there such a kind, 
gentle exorcist. I have seen Miss Hargrove to-day ; I had just 
parted from her.” 

“ Did you say anything? ” 

“No, Amy. How could I, until I had told you? I felt I 
was bound to you by all that can bind a man.” 

“ Oh, Burt, suppose I had not released you, but played Shy- 
lock, what w*ould you have done?” and her laugh rang out 
again in intense merriment. 

“I have no fears of that,” he replied, ruefully. “You are 
the last one to practise Mrs. MacStinger’s tactics. My fear was 
that you and Miss Hargrove both would send me West as a 
precious good riddance.” 

“ Well, it was square of you, as Alf says, to come to me first, 
and I appreciate it, but I should not have resented the omis- 
sion. Will you forgive my curiosity if I ask what is the next 
move in the campaign ? I’ve been reading about the war, you 
know, and I am quite military in my ideas,’ * 


A GENTLE EXORCIST. 


431 


“I have Miss Hargrove’s permission to call to-night. It 
wasn’t given very cordially, and she asked me to bring you.” 

“No, I thank you.” 

“ Oh, I told her she would have to forgive me if I xame 
alone. I meant to have it out to-day, if old Chaos came 
again.” When Amy’s renewed laughter so subsided that he 
could speak, he resumed : “I’m going over there after supper, 
to ask her father for permission to pay my addresses, and if he 
won’t give it, I shall tell him I will pay them all the same — 
that I shall use every effort in my power to win his daughter. 
I don’t want a dollar of his money, but I’m bound to have the 
girl if she’ll ever listen to me after knowing all you know.” 

Amy’s laugh ceased, and she again clasped her hands on his 
arm. “ Dear Burt,” she said, “ your course now seems to me 
manly and straightforward. I saw the strait you were in, but 
did not think you felt it so keenly. In going West I feared 
you were about to run away from it. However Gertrude may 
treat you, you have won my respect by your downright truth. 
She may do as she pleases, but she can’t despise you now. 
There goes your horse to the stable. He has learned this 
afternoon that you are in no state of mind to take care of 
him.” 


432 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER LV. 


BURT TELLS HIS LOVE AGAIN. 


EBB appeared at the supper-table the personification of 



vv quiet geniality, but Amy thought she had never seen 
him look so hollow-eyed. The long strain was beginning to 
tell on him, decidedly, and to-night he felt as if he had received 
a mortal blow. But with indomitable courage he hid his wound, 
and seemed absorbed in a conversation with Leonard and his 
father about the different varieties of apples, and their relative 
value. Amy saw that his mother was looking at him anxiously, 
and she did not wonder. He was growing thin even to gaunt- 


ness. 


Burt also was an arrant dissembler, and on rising from the 
table remarked casually that he was going over to bid Miss 
Hargrove good-by, as she would return to town on the morrow. 

“She’ll surely come and see us before she goes,” Mrs. 
Clifford remarked. “ It seems to me she hasn’t been very 
sociable of late.” 

“ Certainly,” said Amy. “ She’ll be over in the morning. 
She told me she was coming to say good-by to us all, and she 
has asked me to visit her. Come, Webb, you look all tired 
out to-night. Let me read to you. I’ll stumble through the 
dryest scientific treatise you have if I can see you resting on 
the sofa.” 

“ That’s ever so kind of you, Amy, and I appreciate it more 
than you imagine, but I’m going out this evening.” 

“ Oh, of course, sisters are of .no account. What girl are 
you going to see ? ” 


BURT TELLS HIS LOVE AGAIN. 


433 

“No girl whatever. I am too old and dull to entertain the 
pretty creatures.” 

“ Don’t be fishing. You know one you could entertain if 
she isn’t a pretty creature, but then she’s only a sister who 
doesn’t know much.” 

“I’m sorry — I must go,” he said, a little abruptly, for her 
lovely, half-laughing, half-reproachful face, turned to his, con- 
tained such mocking promise of happiness that he could not 
look upon it. What was his urgent business ? His rapid steps 
as he walked mile after mile indicated that the matter was 
pressing indeed ; but, although it was late before he returned, 
he had spoken to no one. The house was dark and silent 
except that a light was burning in Burts room. And his 
momentous fortunes the reader must now follow. 

Miss Hargrove, with a fluttering heart, heard the rapid feet 
of his horse as he rode up the avenue. Truly, he was coming 
at a lover’s pace. The door-bell rang, she heard him admitted, 
and expected the maid’s tap at her door to follow. Why did 
it not come? Were the tumultuous throbs of her heart so loud 
that she could not hear it ? What had become of him ? She ' 
waited and listened in vain. She opened her door slightly; 
there was no sound. She went to her window. There below, 
like a shadow, stood a saddled horse. Where was the knight? 
Had the stupid girl shown him into the drawing-room and left 
him there? Surely the well-trained servant had never been 
guilty of such a blunder before. Could it have been some one 
else who had come to see her father on business ? She stole 
down the stairway in a tremor of apprehension, and strolled 
into the parlor in the most nonchalant manner imaginable. It 
was lighted, but empty, and her expression suddenly became 
one of troubled perplexity. She returned to the hall, and 
started as if she had seen an apparition. There on the rack 
hung r Burt’s hat, as natural as life. Voices reached her ear 
from her father’s study. She took a few swift steps towards it, 
then fled to her room, and stood panting before her mirror, 


434 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


which reflected a young lady in a costume charmingly ill 
adapted to “ packing.” 

How swiftly the minutes passed ! how eternally long they 
were ! Would she be sent for? When would she be sent for? 
“ It was honorable in him to speak to papa first, and papa 
would not, could not, answer him without consulting me. I 
cannot be treated as a child any longer,” she muttered, with 
flashing eyes. “ Papa loves me,” she murmured, in swift alter- 
nation of gentle feeling. “ He could not make my happiness 
secondary to a paltry sum of money.” 

Meanwhile Burt was pleading his cause. Mr. Hargrove had 
greeted him with no little surprise. The parting of the young 
people had not promised any such interview. 

“Have you spoken to my daughter on this subject?” Mr. 
Hargrove asked, gravely, after the young fellow had rather 
incoherently made known his errand. 

“ No, sir,” replied Burt, “ I have not secured your permission. 
At the same time,” he added, with an ominous flash in his blue 
eyes, “ sincerity compels me to say that I could not take a final 
refusal from any lips except those of your daughter, and not 
readily from hers. I would not give up effort to win her until 
convinced that any amount of patient endeavor was useless. 
I should not persecute her, but I would ask her to reconsider 
an adverse answer as often as she would permit, and I will try 
with all my soul to render myself more worthy of her.” 

“ In other words,” began Mr. Hargrove, severely, “ if 1 
should decline this honor, I should count for nothing.” 

“ No, sir, I do not mean that, and I hope I haven’t said it, 
even by implication. Your consent that I should have a fair 
field in which to do my best would receive from me boundless 
gratitude. What I mean to say is, that I could not give her 
up ; I should not think it right to do so. This question is vital 
to me, and I know of no reason,” he added, a little haughtily, 
“ why I should be refused a privilege which is considered the 
right of every gentleman.” 


BURT TELLS HIS LOVE AGAIN. 


435 


“ I have not in the slightest degree raised the question of 
your being a gentleman, Mr. Clifford. Your course in coming 
to me before revealing your regard to my daughter proves that 
you are one. But you should realize that you are asking a 
great deal of me. My child’s happiness is my first and only 
consideration. You know the condition of life to which my 
daughter has been accustomed. It is right and natural that I 
should also know something of your prospects, your ability to 
meet the obligations into which you wish to enter.” 

Poor Burt flushed painfully, and hesitated. After a moment 
he answered, with a dignity and an evident sincerity which won 
golden opinions from Mr. Hargrove : “ I shall not try to mis- 
lead you in the least on this point. For my own sake I wish 
that your daughter were far poorer than I am. I can say little 
more than that I could give her a home now and every comfort 
of life. I could not now provide for her the luxury to which 
she has been accustomed. But I am willing to wait and eager 
to work. In youth and health and a fair degree of education 
I have some capital in addition to the start in life which my 
father has promised to his sons. What could not Miss Hargrove 
inspire a man to do? ” 

The man of experience smiled in spite of himself at Burt’s 
frank enthusiasm and naivete. The whole affair was so different 
from anything that he had ever looked forward to ! Instead 
of a few formalities between himself and a wealthy suitor whom 
his wife, and therefore all the world, would approve of, here he 
was listening to a farmer’s son, with the consciousness that 
he must yield, and not wholly unwilling to do so. Moreover, 
this preposterous young man, so far from showing any awe of 
him, had almost defied him from the start, and had plainly 
stated that the father’s wealth was the only objection to the 
daughter. Having seen the drift of events, Mr. Hargrove? had 
long since informed himself thoroughly about the Clifford 
family, and had been made to feel that the one fact of his 
wealth, which Burt regretted, was almost his only claim to 


436 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


superiority. Burt was as transparent as a mountain brook, and 
quite as impetuous. The gray-haired man sighed, and felt that 
he would give all his wealth in exchange for such youth. He 
knew his daughter’s heart, and felt that further parleying was 
vain, although he foresaw no easy task in reconciling his wife 
to the match. He was far from being heartbroken himself, 
however, for there was such a touch of nature in Burt, and in 
the full, strong love waiting to reward the youth, that his own 
heart was stirred, and in the depths of his soul he knew that 
this was better than giving his child to a jaded millionaire. “ I 
have money enough for both,” he thought. “ As she said, she 
is rich enough to follow her heart. It’s a pity if we can’t afford 
an old-fashioned love-match.” 

Burt was respectfully impatient under Mr. Hargrove’s deep 
thought and silence. 

At last the father arose and gave him his hand, saying : 
“ You have been honest with me, and that, with an old mer- 
chant, counts for a great deal. I also perceive you love my 
daughter for herself. If she should ever inform me that you 
are essential to her happiness I shall not withhold my consent.” 

Burt seized his hand with a grasp that made it ache, as he 
said, “ Every power I have, sir, shall be exerted that you may 
never regret this kindness.” 

“ If you make good that promise, Mr. Clifford, I shall become 
your friend should your wooing prove successful. If you will 
come to the parlor I will tell Miss Hargrove that you are here.” 

He went up the stairs slowly, feeling that he was crossing the 
threshold of a great change. How many thoughts passed 
through his mind as he took those few steps ! He saw his 
child a little black-eyed baby in his arms ; she was running 
before him trundling her hoop ; she came to him with con- 
tracted brow and half-tearful eyes, bringing a knotty sum in 
fractions, and insisting petulantly that they were very “vulgar” 
indeed ; she hung on his arm, a $hy girl of fifteen, blushingly 
conscious of the admiring eyes that followed her; she stood 


BURT TELLS HIS LOVE AGAIN. 


43 7 


before him again in her first radiant beauty as a debutante , and 
he had dreamed of the proudest alliance that the city could 
offer ; she looked into his eyes, a pale, earnest woman, and said, 
“ Papa, he saved my life at the risk of his own.” True, true, 
Mr. Clifford had not spoken of that, and Mr. Hargrove had not 
thought of it in the interview so crowded with considerations. 
His heart relented towards the youth as it had not done before. 
Well, well, since it was inevitable, he was glad To be the one 
who should first bring the tidings of this bold wooer’s purpose. 
“ Trurie will never forget this moment,” he muttered, as he 
knocked at her door, “ nor my part in her little drama.” O 
love, how it craves even the crumbs that fall from the table of 
its idol ! 

“Trurie,” he began, as he entered, “you had better dress. 
Bless me, I thought you were packing ! ” 

“I — I was.” 

“You were expecting some one?” 

“ Mr. Clifford said he would call — to bid me good-by, I 
suppose.” 

“ Was that all you supposed, Trurie? ” 

“ Indeed, papa, I told him I was going to town to-morrow, 
and he asked if he might call.” 

“ Did he speak of his object? ” 

“ No, papa. I’m sure it’s quite natural he should call, and 
I have been packing.” 

“ Well, I can assure you that he has a very definite object. 
He has asked me if he might pay his addresses to you, and in 
the same breath assured me that he would in any event.” 

“ Oh, papa,” she said, hiding her face on his shoulder, “ he 
was not so unmannerly as that ! ” 

“ Indeed, he went much further, declaring that he would take 
no refusal from you, either ; or, rather, that he would take it so 
often as to wear out your patience, and secure you by proving 
that resistance was useless. He had one decided fault to find 
with you, also. He much regrets that you have wealth.” 


43 & 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ Oh, papa, tell me what he did say ; ” and he felt her heart 
fluttering against his side like that of a frightened bird. 

'-“Why, Trurie, men have offered you love before.” 

“But I never loved before, nor knew what it meant,” she 
whispered. “Please don’t keep me in suspense. This is all 
so strange, so sacred to me.” 

“ Well, Trurie, I hope your match may be one of those that 
are made in heaven. Your mother will think it anything but 
worldly wise. However, I will reconcile her to it, and I’m glad 
to be the one with whom you will associate this day. Long 
after I am gone it may remind you how dear your happiness was 
to me, and that I was willing to give up my way for yours. Mr. 
Clifford has been straightforward and manly, if. not conven- 
tional, and I’ve told him that if he could win you and would 
keep his promise to do his best for you and by you, I would be 
his friend, and that, you know, means much. Of course, it all 
depends upon whether you accept him. You are not com- 
mitted in the least.” 

“Am I not, papa? Here is an organ” — with her hand 
upon her heart — “ that knows better. But I shall not throw 
myself at him. Must I go down now? ” 

“Oh, no, I can excuse you,” he said, with smiling lips but 
moist eyes. 

“ Dear papa, I will, indeed, associate you with this hour and 
every pleasant thing in life. You will find that# you have won 
me anew instead of losing me;” and looking back at him with 
her old filial love shining in her eyes, she went slowly away to 
meet the future under the sweet constraint of Nature’s highest 
law. 

If Burt had been impatient in the library, he grew almost 
desperate in the parlor. Horrible doubts and fears crossed his 
mind. Might not Miss Hargrove’s pride rise in arms against 
him? Might she not even now be telling her father of his 
fickleness, and declaring that she would not listen to a “ twice- 
told tale ” ? Every moment of delay seemed ominous, and 


BURT TELLS HIS LOVE AGAIN. 


439 


many moments passed. The house grew sepulchral in its 
silence, and the wind without sighed and moaned as if Nature 
foreboded and pitied him in view of the overwhelming misfor- 
tune impending. At last he sprang up and paced the room in 
his deep perturbation. As he turned towards the entrance he 
saw framed in the doorway a picture that appeared like a 
radiant vision. Miss Hargrove stood there, looking at him so 
intently that, for a second or two, he stood spell-bound. She 
was dressed in some white, clinging material, and, with her bril- 
liant eyes, appeared in the uncertain light too beautiful and 
wraith-like to be human. She saw her advantage, and took the 
initiative instantly. “ Mr. Clifford,” she exclaimed, “ do I seem 
an apparition ? ” 

“ Yes, you do,” he replied, coming impetuously towards her. 
She held out her hand, proposing that their interview should at 
least begin at arm’s length. Nevertheless, the soft fire in his 
eyes and the flush on his handsome face made her tremble 
with a delicious apprehension. Even while at a loss to know 
just how to manage the preliminaries for a decorous yielding, 
she exulted over the flame-like spirit of her lover. 

“ Ah, Mr. Clifford,” she cried, “ you ought to know that you 
are not crushing a ghost’s hand.” 

“ Pardon me. What I meant was that I thought I had 
seen you before, but you are a new revelation every time I see 
you.” 

“ I can’t interpret visions.” 

“• Please don’t say that, for I must ask you to interpret one 
to-night. What does Shakespeare say about those who have 
power? I hope you will use yours mercifully. Oh, Miss Har- 
grove, you are so beautiful that I believe I should lose my 
reason if you sent me away without hope.” 

“ Mr. Clifford, you are talking wildly,” was her faint response. 

“ I fear I am. I am almost desperate from fear, for I have 
a terribly hard duty to perform.” 

“ Indeed ! ” she said, withdrawing her hand, which he relin- 


440 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


quished most reluctantly, dreading that he might never receive 
it again. 

“ Do not assume that attitude, Miss Hargrove, or I shall lose 
courage utterly.” 

“Truly, Mr. Clifford,” she said, a little satirically, seating her- 
self on a sofa, “ I never imagined you deficient in courage. Is 
it a terrible duty to entertain me for a half-hour, and say good- 
by?” 

“ Yes. Nothing could be worse than that, if that were all ; ” 
and he looked at her appealingly and in such perplexed dis- 
tress that she laughed outright. 

“ I am very much in earnest, Miss Hargrove.” 

“ You are very enigmatical, Mr. Clifford. Must I be present 
while you perform this terrible duty?” 

“ I think you know what I must confess already, and have a 
world of scorn in store for me. Do not judge me harshly. 
Whatever the end may be, and my sense of ill-desert is heavy 
indeed, I shall begin on the basis of absolute truth. You shall 
know the worst. I’ve asked your father for the privilege of win- 
ning your love;” and then he hesitated, not knowing how to 
to go on. 

“Is that the worst?” she asked, demurely. 

“No, I fear it will be the best, for he kindly gave his con- 
sent, and I know it would be hard for him to do as much for 
any man, much more so for one not wholly to his mind. Miss 
Hargrove, I must appear awkwardness and incoherency personi- 
fied. I hardly know how to go on. I shall appear to you 
fickle and unmanly. How can I excuse myself to you when I 
have no excuse except the downright truth that I love you 
better than my life, better than my own soul, better than all the 
world and everything in it. I never knew what love was until 
you became unconscious in my arms on the mountain. Forgive 
me for referring to it. I’m only trying to explain myself ; and 
yet I had thought that I knew, and had spoken words of love 
to your friend, Amy Winfield, who is worthy of the love of the 


BURT TELLS HIS LOVE AGAIN. 


441 


best and noblest man that ever breathed. She did not wel- 
come my words — they only wounded her — and she has never 
cared for me except as a true and gentle sister cares. But I 
promised to wait till she did care. I can’t keep that promise. 
You fascinated me from the first hour of our meeting. I feel 
now that I cherished an unworthy purpose towards you. I 
thought that, by attentions to you, I could make Amy care ; 
I thought that you were but a brilliant society girl ; but every 
hour I spent with you increased my admiration, my respect ; I 
saw that you were better and stronger than I was. On the first 
day we went into camp on the mountain I saw whither my heart 
was leading me, and from that hour until to-day I have tried to 
conquer my love, feeling that I had no right to give it, that you 
would despise it if I did. You can’t have any confidence in 
me now. All my hope is that you will give me a chance to 
prove that I am not a fickle wretch. I will accept of any pro- 
bation, I will submit to any terms. I can’t take an absolute 
refusal now, for I feel you are seeing me at my worst, and I 
know that you could do with me anything you pleased.” 

Her head bowed lower and lower as he poured out these 
words like a torrent. “ Does Amy — have you told her that 
you cannot keep your promise to her?” she faltered, in a low 
tone. 

“ Oh, yes, I told her so a few hours ago — since I met you 
this afternoon. I was going away to the West, like a coward, 
to escape from my dilemma, for I felt you would never listen 
to me after you knew that I had broken my word to Amy. 
I feared that I had already become a by-word between you for 
all that was weak and fickle. But after I saw you I could not 
go till I spoke. I determined to reveal the whole truth, and if 
you ever gave me a chance to retrieve myself, gratitude would 
be no name for my deep feeling.” 

“ Did — did Amy release you ? ” 

“Yes, she was kindness itself. She told me in good plain 
English that she wanted neither me nor my promise ; that she 


442 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


didn’t think that she ever could have loved me, no matter how 
long I might have waited. But I could not look into your clear 
eyes and say, ‘ I love you,’ and know that you might learn from 
her or any one chat I had said this before. If you won’t trust 
me, having had the whole truth, then I must bear my hard fate 
as best I can.” 

“ How long would you be willing to wait for me?” she asked, 
in tones so low that he could scarcely catch the words. 

He bounded to her side, and took her unresisting hand. 
“ Oh, Gertrude,” he pleaded, “ prove me, give me a chance, 
let me show that I am not without manhood and constancy. 
Believe me, I know the priceless gift I’m asking, but what else 
can I do ? I have tried for weeks to conquer the feeling you 
have inspired, tried with all the help that pride and sense of 
duty and honor could give, but it has been utterly useless. I 
now am free; I have the right to speak. I have concealed 
nothing from you. I’m wholly at your mercy.” 

At last she raised her downcast eyes and averted face to his, 
and for a moment he was dazed at their expression. In tones 
sweet, low, and deep with her strong emotion, she said, “ Burt, 
how glad I am that you men are blind ! I found out that I 
loved you before we went to our mountain camp.” She sprang 
up and gave him her other hand as she continued : “ Can love 
impose such hard conditions as you suggest — months of doubt- 
ful waiting for one who risked his life for me without a second’s 
hesitation? That is not my nature, Burt. If I have power 
over you, I shall show it in another way.” 

She would never forget his look as he listened to these words, 
nor his humility as he lowered his head upon her shoulder, and 
murmured, “ I am not worthy of this.” It touched the deepest 
and tenderest chord in her heart. His feeling was not the 
exultation of success, but a ^gratitude too deep for words, and a 
half-conscious appeal that she would use her woman’s power to 
evoke a better manhood. It was not mere acknowledgment 
of her beauty, or the impulse of his passion ; it was homage to 


BURT TELLS HIS LOVE AGAIN. 


443 


the best and noblest part of her nature, the expression of his 
absolute trust. Never had she received such a tribute, and she 
valued it more than if Burt had laid untold wealth at her feet. 

A great joy is often as sobering as a great sorrow, and they 
talked long and earnestly together. Gertrude would not be- 
come engaged until she had told her mother, and shown her 
the respect that was her due. “You must not be resentful,” 
the young girl said, “if mamma’s consent is not easily won. 
She has set her heart on an establishment in town, I’ve set my 
heart on you ; so there we differ, and you must give me time 
to reconcile her to a different programme.” 

The clock on the mantel chimed eleven, and Burt started up, 
aghast at the flight of time. Gertpde stole to her father’s 
library, and found that he was pacing the floor. “ I should not 
have left him alone so long to-night,” she thought, with com- 
punction. “ Papa,” she said, “ Mr. Clifford is going. Will you 
not come and speak to him ? ” 

He looked into his daughter’s flushed, happy face, and needed 
no further explanation, and with her hands on his arm he went 
to the drawing-room. Burt said but few and very simple words, 
and the keen judge of men liked him better than if he had been 
more exuberant. There was evidence of downright earnestness 
now that seemed a revelation of a new trait. 

“You spoke of going to the West soon,” Mr. Hargrove re- 
marked, as they lingered in parting. “ Have you any objection 
to telling me of your purpose ? ” 

Burt explained. Mr. Hargrove’s face soon expressed unusual 
interest. “ I must talk with you further about this,*” he said. 
“ I have land in the same locality, and also an interest in the 
railroad to which you refer. Perhaps I can make your journey 
of mutual service.” 

“ Oh, papa,” cried his daughter, “ you are my good genius ! ” 
for she well understood what that mutual service meant. 

After Burt had gone, Mr. Hargrove said, “Well, well, this 
Western-land business puts a new aspect on the affair, and 


444 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


mamma may have little ground for complaint. It’s my impres- 
sion that the Cliffords will realize a very respectable fortune out 
of that land.” 

“ Papa,” said the young girl, “ Burt gave me something better 
than wealth to-night — better even than love, in the usual sense 
of the word. He gave me his faith. He acted as if he saw in 
me the power to help him to be a true man, and what higher 
compliment can a woman receive ? He did not express it so 
much by word as by an unconscious manner, that was so sincere 
and unpremeditated that it thrilled my very soul. “ Oh, papa, 
you have helped me to be so very happy ! ” 


WEBB'S FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER. 445 


CHAPTER LVI. 

WEBB’S four-leaved clover. 

EBB’S silent entrance had not been so quiet but that 



V V Burt heard him. Scarcely had he gained his room be- 
fore the younger brother knocked, and followed him in without 
waiting. “ Where have you been at this time of night?” he 
exclaimed. “ You are infringing on ghostly hours, and are be- 
ginning to look like a ghost ; ” for Webb had thrown himself 
into a chair, and was haggard from the exhaustion of his long 
conflict. The light and kindly way in which he answered his 
brother proved that he was victor. 

“ Webb,” said Burt, putting his hand on the elder brother’s 
shoulder, “ you saved my life last winter, and life has become 
of immense value to me. If you had not found me, I should 
have missed a happiness that falls to the lot of few — a happi- 
ness of which all your science can never give you, you old 
delver, even an idea. I meant to tell mother and father first, 
but I feel to-night how much I owe to your brave, patient 
search, and I want your congratulations.” 

“ I think you might have told father and mother last night, 
for I suppose it’s morning now.” 

“ I did not get home in time, and did not wish to excite 
mother, and spoil her rest.” 

“ Well, then, you might have come earlier or gone later. Oh, 
I know all about it. I’m not blind.” 

“ By Jove ! I think not, if you know all about what I didn’t 
know, and could scarcely believe possible myself, till an hour 
or two since.” 


446 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


“ What on earth are you driving at ? I think you might 1 
stayed at home with Amy to-night, of all times. An accid - h 
B urt, revealed to me your success, and I do congratulate 
most sincerely. You have now the truest and loveliest gir 
the world.” 

“ That’s true, but what possible accident could have revea 
the fact to you? ” 

“ Don’t think I was spying upon you. From the top Oi a 
ladder in the orchard I saw, as the result of a casual glance, 
your reward to Amy for words that must have been very satis- 
factory.” 

Burt began to laugh as if he could not control himself. 
" What a surprise I have for you all ! ” he said. “ I went 
where I did last night with Amy’s full knowledge and consent. 
She never cared a rap for me, but the only other girl in the 
world who is her equal does, and her name is Gertrude Har- 
grove.” 

Webb gave a great start, and sank into a chair. 

“ Don’t be so taken aback, old fellow. I suppose you and 
the rest had set your hearts on my marrying Amy. You have 
only to follow Amy’s example, and give me your blessing. Yes, 
you saw me give Amy a very grateful and affectionate greeting 
last evening. She’s the dearest little sister that ever a man had, 
and that’s all she ever wanted to be to me. I felt infernally 
mean when I came to her yesterday, for I was in an awkward 
strait. I had promised to wait for her till she did care, but she 
told me that there was no use in waiting, and I don’t believe 
there would have been. She would have seen some one in the 
future who would awaken a very different feeling from any that 
I could inspire, and then, if she had promised herself to me, 
she would have been in the same predicament that I was. She 
is the best and most sensible little girl that ever breathed, and 
feels towards me just as she does towards you, only she very 
justly thinks you have forgotten more than I ever knew. As for 
Gertrude — Hang it all ! what’s the use of trying to explain ? 


WEBB'S FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER. 


44 7 


i’ll say I’m at my old tricks, but I’m not. You’ve seen how 
: :umstances have brought us together, and I tell you my eye 
ud heart are filled now for all time. She will be over to-mor- 
and I want her to receive the greeting she deserves.” 

"he affair seemed of such tremendous importance to Burt 
t he was not in the least surprised that Webb was deeply 
c zed, and fortunately he talked long enough to give his 
brother time to regain his self-control. Webb did congratulate 
him in a way that was entirely satisfactory, and then bundled 
him out of the room in the most summary manner, saying, 
“ Because you are a hare-brained lover, you shouldn’t keep 
sane people awake any longer.” It were hard to say, however, 
who was the less sane that night, Webb or Burt. The former 
threw open his window, and gazed at the moonlit mountains in 
long, deep ecstasy. Unlike Burt’s, his more intense feeling 
would find quiet expression. All he knew was that there was a 
chance for him — that he had the right to put forth the best 
effort of which he was capable — and he thanked God for 
that. At the same time he remembered Amy’s parable of the 
rose. He would woo as warily as earnestly. With Burt’s ex- 
perience before his eyes, he would never stun her with sudden 
and violent declarations. His love, like sunshine, would seek 
to develop the flower of her love. 

He was up and out in the October dawn, too happy and ex- 
cited for sleep. His weariness was gone ; his sinews seemed 
braced with steel as he strode to a lofty eminence. No hue on 
the richly tinted leaves nor on the rival chrysanthemums was 
brighter than his hope, and the cool, pure air, in which there 
was as yet no frostiness, was like exhilarating wine. From the 
height he looked down on his home, the loved casket of the 
more dearly prized jewel. He viewed the broad acres on which 
he had toiled, remembering with a dull wonder that once he 
had been satisfied with their material products. Now there was 
a glamour upon them, and upon all the landscape. The river 
gleamed and sparkled ; the mountains flamed like the plumage 




448 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


of some tropical bird. The world was transfigured. The earth 
and his old materiality became the foundation-stones on which 
his awakened mind, kindled and made poetic, should rear an 
airy, yet enduring, structure of beauty, consecrated to Amy 
He had loved nature before, but it had been to him like a palace 
in which, as a dull serving-man, he had employed himself in 
caring for its furniture and the frames of its paintings. But he 
had been touched by a magic wand, and within the frames 
glowed ever- changing pictures, and the furniture was seen to be 
the work of divine art. The palace was no longer empty, but 
enshrined a living presence, a lovely embodiment of Nature’s 
purest and best manifestation. The development of no flower 
in all the past summer was so clear to him as that of the girl he 
loved. He felt as if he had known her thoughts from child- 
hood. Her young womanhood was like that of the roses he 
had shown to her in the dewy June dawn that seemed so long 
ago. Burt had never touched her heart. It was still like a bud^ 
of his favorite mossrose, wrapped in its green calyx. Oh, what' 
a wealth of fragrant beauty would be revealed ! Now it might 
be revealed to him. But she should waken in her own time ; 
and if he had not the power to impart the deep, subtile impulse, 
then that nearest to her, Nature, should be his bride. 

They were all at the breakfast- table when he returned, and 
this plotter against Amy’s peace entered and greeted her with a 
very quiet “ Good-morning,” but he laid beside her plate a four- 
leaved clover which he had espied on his way back. 

“ Thanks, Webb,” she said, with eyes full of merriment; “I 
foresee an amazing amount of good luck in this little emblem. 
Indeed, I feel sure that startling proofs of it will occur to-day ; ” 
and she looked significantly at Burt, who laughed very con- 
sciously. 

“What mischief has Burt been up to, Amy?” Mrs. Clifford 
asked. “ He was ready to explode with suppressed something 
last evening at supper, and now he is effervescing in somewhat 
different style, but quite as remarkably. You boys needn’t 


WEBB'S FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER. 


449 

think you can hide anything from mother very long ; she knows 
you too well.” 

Both Webb and Burt, with Amy, began to laugh, and they 
looked at each other as if there were a good deal that mother 
did not know. 

“Webb and Amy have evidently some joke on Burt,” re- 
marked Leonard. “Webb was out last night, and I bet a 
pippin he caught Burt flirting with Miss Hargrove.” 

“ Oh, Burt ! ” cried Amy, in mock indignation. 

“ Nonsense ! ” said his mother. “ Burt is going to settle 
down now and be steady. We’ll make him sign a pledge be- 
fore he goes West, won’t we, Amy?” 

“Yes indeed,” gasped Amy, almost beside herself with mer- 
riment ; “ he’ll have to sign one in big capitals.” 

“ Burt,” said his father, looking at him over his spectacles, 
“ you’ve been getting yourself into some scrape as sure as the 
world. That’s right, Amy ; you laugh at him well, and — ” 

“*A truce ! ” exclaimed Burt. “If I’m in a scrape, I don’t 
propose to get out of it, but rather to make you all share in it. 
As Amy says, her four-leaved clover will prove a true prophet, 
green as it looks. I now beg off, and shall prove that my 
scrape has not spoiled my appetite.” 

“ Well,” said Leonard, “ I never could find any four-leaved 
clovers, but I’ve had good luck, haven’t I, Maggie?” 

“ You had indeed, when you came courting me.” 

“ How about Maggie’s luck ? ” asked Burt. 

“ I am satisfied,” began Webb, “ that I could develop acres 
of four-leaved clover. Some plants have this peculiarity. I 
have counted twenty-odd on one root. If seed from such a 
plant were sown, and then seed selected again from the new 
plants most characterized by this ‘ sport,’ I believe the trait 
would become fixed, and we could have a field of four-leaved 
clover. New varieties of fruits, vegetables, and flowers are 
often thus developed from chance ‘ sports ’ or abnormal speci- 


mens.' 


450 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


“Just hear Webb,” said Amy. “ He would turn this ancient 
symbol of fortune into a marketable commodity.” 

“ Pardon me ; I was saying what might be done, not what I 
proposed to do. I found this emblem of good chance by 
chance, and I picked it with the ‘ wish ’ attached to the stem. 
Thus to the utmost I have honored the superstition, and you 
have only to make your wish to carry it out fully.” 

“ My wishes are in vain, and all the four-leaved clovers in the 
world wouldn’t help them. I wish I was a scientific problem, 
a crop that required great skill to develop, a rare rose that all 
the rose-maniacs were after, a new theory that required a great 
deal of consideration and investigation, and accompanied with 
experiments that needed much observation, and any number of 
other t-i-o-n-shuns. Then I shouldn’t be left alone evenings 
by the great inquiring mind of the family. Burt’s going away, 
and, as his father says, has got into a scrape ; so what’s to 
become of me?” 

They all arose from the table amid general laughter, of which 
Webb and Burt were equally the objects, and on the faces of 
those not in the secret there was much perplexed curiosity. 

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Maggie, “if Webb should 
concentrate his mind on you as you suggest, it would end by 
his falling in love with you.” 

This speech was received with shouts of merriment, and Amy 
felt the color rushing into her face, but she scouted the possi- 
bility. “The idea of Webb’s falling in love with any one ! ” 
she cried. “ I should as soon expect to see old Storm King 
toppling over.” 

“ Still waters run — ” began Maggie, but a sudden flash from 
Webb’s eyes checked her. 

“Deep, do they?” retorted Amy. “Some still waters don’t 
run at all. Not for the world would I have Webb incur the 
dreadful risk that you suggest.” 

“I think I’m almost old enough to take care of myself, 
sister Amy, and I promise you to try to be as entertaining as 


WEBB'S FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER . 


451 


such an old fellow can be. As to falling in love with you, that 
happened long ago — the first evening you came, when you 
stood in the doorway blushing and frightened at the crowd of 
your new relations.” 

“ Haven’t I got over being afraid of them remarkably ? I 
never was a bit afraid of you even, at first. It took me a long 
time, however, to find out how learned you were, and what deep 
subjects are required to interest you. Alas, I shall never be a 
deep subject.” 

“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Clifford, putting his arm around 
her, “ you have come like sunshine into the old home, and we 
old people can’t help wishing you may never go out of it while 
we are alive.” 

“ I’m not a bit jealous, Amy,” said Maggie. 

“ I think it’s time this mutual admiration society broke up,” 
the young girl said, with tears trembling in her eyes. “ When 
I think of it all, and what a home I’ve found, I’m just silly 
enough to cry. I think it’s time, Burt, that you obtained your 
father’s and mother’s forgiveness or blessing, or whatever it is 
to be.” 

“ You are right, Amy, as you always are. Mother, will you 
take my arm? and if you will accompany us, sir (to his father), 
you shall learn the meaning of Amy’s four-leaved clover.” 

“You needn’t think you are going to get Amy without my 
consent,” Leonard called after him. “ I’ve known her longer 
than any of you — ever since she was a little girl at the 
depot.” 

Amy and Webb began laughing so heartily at the speaker 
that he went away remarking that he could pick apples if he 
couldn’t solve riddles. 

“ Come up to my room, Amy,” said Maggie, excitedly. 

“ No, no, Mother Eve, I shall go to my own room, and dress 
for company.” 

“ Oh, I guess your secret ! ” cried Maggie. “ Burt said 
something more than good-by to Miss Hargrove last evening.” 


452 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Amy would not answer, and the sound of a mirthful snatch 
of song died musically away in the distance. 

“Now, Mr. Webb,” Maggie resumed, “what did you mean 
by that ominous flash from your cavern-like eyes?” 

“It meant that Amy has probably been satisfied with one 
lover in the family and i ts unexpected result. I don’t wish our 
relations embarrassed by the feeling that she must be on her 
guard against another.” 

“ Oh, I see, you don’t wish her to be on her guard.” 

“ Dear Maggie, whatever you may see, appear blind. Heaven 
only knows what you women don’t see.” 

“That’s good policy, Webb. I’ll be your ally now. I’ve 
suspected you for some time, but thought Burt and Amy were 
committed to each other.” 

“ Amy does not suspect anything, and she must not. She is 
not ready for the knowledge, and may never be. All the help 
I ask is to keep her unconscious. I’ve been expecting you 
would find me out, for you married ladies have had an experi- 
ence which doubles your insight, and I’m glad of the chance to 
caution you. Amy is happy in loving me as a brother. She 
shall never be unhappy in this home if I can prevent it.” 

Maggie entered heart and soul into Webb’s cause, for he was 
a great favorite with her. He was kind to her children, and in 
a quiet way taught them almost as much as they learned at 
school. He went to his work with mind much relieved, for she 
and his mother were the only ones that he feared might surmise 
his feeling, and by manner or remark reveal it to Amy, thus de- 
stroying their unembarrassed relations, and perhaps his chance 
to win the girl’s heart. 


OCTOBER HUES AND HARVESTS. 


453 


CHAPTER LVII. 

OCTOBER HUES AND HARVESTS. 

B URT’S interview with his parents, their mingled surprise, 
pleasure, and disappointment, and their deep sympathy, 
need not be dwelt upon. Mr. Clifford was desirous of first see- 
ing Amy, and satisfying himself that she did not in the slightest 
degree feel herself slighted or treated in bad faith, but his wife, 
with her low laugh, said : “ Rest assured, father, Burt is right. 
He has won nothing more from Amy than sisterly love, though 
I had hoped that he might in time. After all, perhaps it is 
best. We shall keep Amy, and gain a new daughter that we 
have already learned to admire and love.” 

Burt’s mind was too full of the one great theme to remember 
what Mr. Hargrove had said about the Western land, and when 
at last Miss Hargrove came to say good-by, with a blushing 
consciousness quite unlike her usual self-possession, he was en- 
chanted anew, and so were all the household. The old people’s 
reception seemed like a benediction ; Amy banished the faint- 
est trace of doubt by her mirthful ecstasies ; and after their 
mountain experience there was no ice to break between 
Gertrude and Maggie. 

The former was persuaded to defer her trip to New York 
until the morrow, and so Amy would have her nutting expedi- 
tion after all. When Leonard came down to dinner, Burt took 
Gertrude’s hand, and said, “ Now, Len, this is your only chance 
to give your consent. You can’t have any dinner till you do. J ’ 
His swift, deprecating look at Amy’s laughing face re-assured 


454 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


him. “ Well,” he said, slowly, as if trying to comprehend it 
all, “ I do believe I’m growing old. My eyesight must be fail- 
ing sadly. When did all this take place? ” 

“ Your eyesight is not to blame, Leonard,” said his wife, with 
much superiority. “ It’s because you are only a man.” 

“ That’s all I ever pretended to be.” Then, with a dignity 
that almost surprised Gertrude, he, as eldest brother, welcomed 
her in simple, heartfelt words. 

At the dinner- table Miss Hargrove referred to the Western 
land. Burt laid down his knife and fork, and exclaimed, “ I 
declare, I forgot all about it ! ” 

Miss Hargrove laughed heartily as she said, “ A high tribute 
to me ! ” and then made known her father’s statement that the 
Clifford tract in the West adjoined his -own, that it would soon 
be very valuable, and that he was interested in the railroad ap- 
proaching it. “ I left him,” she concluded, “ pouring over his 
maps, and he told me to say to you, sir” (to Mr. Clifford), 
“ that he wished to see you soon.” 

“ How about the four-leaved clover now? ” cried Amy. 

In the afternoon they started for the chestnut- trees. Webb 
carried 3. light ladder, and both he and Burt had dressed them- 
selves in close-fitting flannel suits for climbing. The orchard, 
as they passed through it, presented a beautiful autumn picture. 
Great heaps of yellow and red cheeked apples were upon the 
ground ; other varieties were in barrels, some headed up and 
ready for market, while Mr. Clifford was giving the final cooper- 
age to other barrels as fast as they were filled. 

“ Father can still head up a barrel better than any of us,” 
Leonard remarked to Miss Hargrove. 

“ Well, my dear,” said the old gentleman, “ I’ve had over 
half a century’s experience.” 

“ It’s time I obtained some idea of rural affairs,” said Ger- 
trude to Webb. “ There seem to be many different kinds of 
apples here. Can you easily tell them apart? ” 

“ Yes, as easily as you know different dress fabrics at Arnold’s. 



OCTOBER HUES AND HARVESTS. 455 

Those umbrella-shaped trees are Rhode Island greenings ; those 
that are rather long and slender branching are yellow bell-flow- 
ers ; and those with short and stubby branches and twigs are 
the old-fashioned dominies. Over there are Newtown pippins. 
Don’t you see how green the fruit is ? It will not be in perfec- 


tion till next March. Not only a summer, but an autumn and 
a winter are required to perfect that superb apple, but then it 
becomes one of Nature’s triumphs. Some of those heaps on 
the ground will furnish cider and vinegar. Nuts, cider, and a 
wood fire are among the privations of a farmer’s life.” 

“Farming, as you carry it on, appears to me a fine art. How 


456 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


very full some of the trees are ! and others look as if they had 
been half picked over.” 

“ That is just what has been done. The largest and ripest 
apples are taken off first, and the rest of the fruit improves 
wonderfully in two or three weeks. By this course we greatly 
increase both the quality and the bulk of the crop ” 

“You are very happy in your calling, Webb. How strange 
it seems for me to be addressing you as Webb ! ” 

“ It does not seem so strange to me ; nor does it seem strange 
that I am talking to you in this way. I soon recognized that 
you were one of those fortunate beings in whom city life had 
not quenched nature.” 

They had fallen a little behind the others, and were out of 
ear-shot. 

“ I think,” she said, hesitatingly and shyly, “ that I had. an 
ally in you all along. ’ 

He laughed and replied, “ At one time I was very dubious 
over my expedition to Fort Putnam.” 

“ I imagine that in suggesting that expedition you put in two 
words for yourself.” 

“ Call it even,” he said. 

“I wish you might be as happy as I am. I’m not blind 
either, and I wonder that Amy is so unconscious.” 

“ I hope she will remain so until she awakens as naturally as 
from sleep. She has never had a brother, and as such I try to 
act towards her. My one thought is her happiness, and, per- 
haps, I can secure it in no other way. I feared long since that 
you had guessed my secret, and am grateful that you h&ve not 
suggested it to Amy. Few would have shown so much delicacy 
and consideration.” 

“ I’m not sure that you are right, Webb. If Amy knew of 
your feeling, it would influence her powerfully. She misjudges 
you now.” 

“Yes, it was necessary that she should misunderstand me, 
and think of me as absorbed in things remote from her life. 



OCTOBER HUES AND HARVESTS. 457 

The knowledge you suggest might make her very sad, for there 
never was a gentler-hearted girk You have remarkable tact. 
Please use it to prevent the constraint which might arise 
between us,” 

Burt now joined them with much pretended jealousy, and 
they soon reached the trees, which, under the young men’s 
vigorous blows, rained down the prickly burrs, downy chestnuts, 


AN OCTOBER OUTING. 

and golden leaves. Blue jays screamed indignantly from the 
mountain-side, and squirrels barked their protest at the inroads 
made upon their winter stores. As the night approached the 
air grew chilly, and Webb remarked that frost was coming at 
last. He hastened home before the others to cover up certain 
plants that might be sheltered through the first cold snap. The 
tenderer ones had long since been taken up and prepared foi 
winter blooming. 


453 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


To Amy’s inquiry where Johnnie was, Maggie had replied 
that she had gone nutting by previous engagement with Mr. 
Alvord, and as the party returned in the glowing evening they 
met the oddly assorted friends with their baskets well filled. In 
the eyes of the recluse there was a gentler expression, proving 
that Johnnie’s and Nature’s ministry had not been wholly in 
vain. He glanced swiftly from Burt to Miss Hargrove, then at 
Amy, and a faint suggestion of a smile hovered about his 
mouth. He was about to leave them abruptly when Johnnie 
interposed, pleading : “ Mr. Alvord, don’t go home till I pick 
you some of your favorite heart’s-ease, as you call my pansies. 
They have grown to be as large and beautiful as they were last 
spring. Do you know, in the hot weather they were almost as 
small as johnny- jumpers? but I wouldn’t let ’em be called by 
that name.” 

“They will ever be heart’s-ease to me, Johnnie — doubly so 
when you give them,” and he followed her to the garden. 

In the evening a great pitcher of cider fresh from the press, 
flanked by dishes of golden fall pippins and grapes, was placed 
on the table. The young people roasted chestnuts on hickory 
coals, and every one, even to the invalid, seemed to glow with 
a kindred warmth and happiness. The city belle contrasted 
the true home-atmosphere with the grand air of a city house, 
and thanked God for her choice. At an early hour she said 
good-by for a brief time and departed with Burt. He was 
greeted with stately courtesy by Mrs. Hargrove herself, whom 
her husband and the prospective value of the Western land had 
reconciled to the momentous event. Burt and Gertrude were 
formally engaged, and he declared his intention of accompany- 
ing her to the city to procure the significant diamond. 

After the culminating scenes of Burt’s little drama, life went 
on very serenely and quietly at the Clifford home. Out of 
school hours Alf, Johnnie, and Ned vied with the squirrels in 
gathering their hoard of various nuts. The boughs in the 
orchard grew lighter daily. Frost came as Webb had pre- 


OCTOBER HUES AND HARVESTS. 


459 


dieted, and dahlias, salvias, and other flowers, that had flamed 
and glowed till almost the middle of October, turned black in 
one morning’s sun. The butternut-trees had lost their foliage, 
and countless leaves were fluttering down in every breeze like 
many-hued gems. The richer bronzed colors of the oak were 
predominating in the landscape, and only the apple, cherry, and 
willow trees about the house kept up the green suggestion of 


summer. 


460 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 


THE MOONLIGHT OMEN. 


EBB permitted no marked change in his manner. He 



vv toiled steadily with Leonard in gathering the fall prod- 
uce and in preparing for winter, but Amy noticed that his old 
pre-occupied look was passing away. Daily he appeared to 
grow more genial and to have more time and thought for her. 
With increasing wonder she learned the richness and fulness of 
his mind. In the evenings he read aloud to them all with his 
strong, musical intonation, in which the author’s thought was 
emphasized so clearly that it seemed to have double the force 
that it possessed when she read the same words herself. He 
found time for occasional rambles and horseback excursions, 
and was so companionable during long rainy days that they 
seemed to her the brightest of the week. Maggie smiled to 
herself and saw that Webb’s spell was working. He was mak- 
ing himself so quietly and unobtrusively essential to Amy that 
she would find half of her life gone if she were separated from 


him. 


Gertrude returned for a short time, and then went to the city 
for the winter. Burt’s orbit was hard to calculate. He was 
much in New York, and often with Mr. Hargrove, from whom 
he was receiving instructions in regard to his Western expedi- 
tion. That gentleman’s opinion of Burt’s business capacity 
grew more favorable daily, for the young fellow now proposed 
to show that he meant to take life in earnest. “If this lasts he 
will make a trusty young lieutenant,” the merchant thought, 


THE MOONLIGHT OMEN. 


461 


“ and I can make his fortune while furthering mine.” Burt had 
plenty of brains and good executive ability to carry out the 
wiser counsels of others, while his easy, vivacious manner won 
him friends and acceptance everywhere. 

It was arranged, after his departure, that Amy^should visit her 
friend in the city, and Webb looked forward to her absence 
with dread and self-depreciation, fearing that he should suffer 
by contrast with the brilliant men of society, and that the quiet 
country life would seem dull, indeed, thereafter. 

Before Amy went on this visit there came an Indian summer 
morning in November, that by its soft, dreamy beauty wooed 
every one out of doors. “Amy,” said Webb, after dinner, 
“ suppose we drive over to West Point and return by moon- 
light.” She was delighted with the idea, and they were soon 
slowly ascending the mountain. He felt that this was his 
special opportunity, not to break her trustful unconsciousness, 
but to reveal his power to interest her and make impressions 
that should be enduring. He exerted every faculty to please, 
recalling poetic and legendary allusions connected with the 
trees, plants, and scenes by which they were passing. 

“ Oh, Webb, how you idealize nature ! ” she said. “ You 
make every object suggest something fanciful, beautiful, or 
entertaining. How have you learned to do it? ” 

“ As I told you last Easter Sunday — how long ago it seems ! 
— if I have any power for such idealization it is largely through 
your influence. My knowledge was much like the trees as they 
then appeared. I was prepared for better things, but the time 
for them had not yet come. I had studied the material world 
in a material sort of way, employing my mind with facts that 
were like the bare branches and twigs. You awakened in me a 
sense of the beautiful side of nature. How can I explain it? 
Who can explain the rapid development of foliage and flowers 
when all is ready? ” 

“ But, Webb, you appeared, during the summer, to go back 
to your old materiality worse than ever. You made me feel that 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


462 

I had no power to do anything for you. You treated me as 
if I were your very little sister who would have to go to school 
a few years before I could be your companion.’ ' 

“ Those were busy days,” he replied, laughing. “ Besides,” 
he added, hesitatingly, “ Burt was at one time inclined to be 
jealous. Of course, it was very absurd in him, but I suppose 
lovers are always a little absurd.” 

“I should think it was absurd. I saw whither Burt was 
drifting long ago — at the time of the great flood which swept 
away things of more value than my silly expectations. What 
an unsophisticated little goose I was ! I suppose Johnnie ex- 
pects to be married some day, and in much the same way I 
looked forward to woman’s fate ; and since you all seemed to 
wish that it should be Burt, I thought, ‘ Why not ? ’ Wasn’t it 
lucky for Burt, and, indeed, for all of you, that I was not a 
grown-up and sentimental young woman? Mr. Hargrove, by 
uniting his interests with yours in the West, will make your for- 
tunes, and Burt will bring you a lovely sister. It pleases me to 
see how Gertrude is learning to like you. I used to be provoked 
with her at first, because she didn’t appreciate you. Do you 
know, I think you ought to write? You could make people 
fall in love with nature. Americans don’t care half as much for 
out-door life and pursuits as the English. It seems to me that 
city life cannot compare with that of the country.” 

“ You may think differently after you have been a few weeks 
in Gertrude’s elegant home.” 

They had paused again on the brow of Cro’ Nest, and were 
looking out on the wide landscape. “ No, Webb,” she said ; 
“ her home, no doubt, is elegant, but it is artificial. This is 
simple and grand, and to-day, seen through the soft haze, is 
lovely to me beyond all words. I honestly half regret that I 
am going to town. Of course, I shall enjoy myself — I always 
do with Gertrude — but the last few quiet weeks have been so 
happy and satisfying that I dread any change.” 

“ Think of the awful vacuum that your absence will make in 
the old home ! ” 


THE MOONLIGHT OMEN. 


463 


“ Well, I’m a little glad ; I want to be missed. But I shall 
write to you and tell you of all the frivolous things we are doing. 
Besides, you must come to see me as often as you can.” 

“ I certainly shall.” 

They saw evening parade, the moon rising meanwhile over 
Sugarloaf Mountain, and filling the early twilight with a soft 
radiance. The music seemed enchanting, for their hearts were 
attuned to it. As the long line of cadets shifted their guns 
from “ carry arms ” to “ shoulder arms ” with instantaneous 
action, Webb said that the muskets sent out a shivering sound 
like that of a tree almost ready to fall under the last blows of 
an axe. 

Webb felt that should he exist millions of ages he should 
never forget the ride homeward. The moon looked through 
the haze like a veiled beauty, and in its softened light Amy’s 
pure, sweet profile was endowed with ethereal beauty. The 
beech-trees, with their bleached leaves still clinging to them, 
were almost spectral, and the oaks in their bronzed foliage stood 
like black giants by the roadside. There were suggestive vistas 
of light and shadow that were full of mystery, making it easy 
to believe that on a night like this the mountain was haunted 
by creatures as strange as the fancy could shape. The girl at 
his side was a mystery. Viewless walls incased her spirit. 
What were her hidden and innermost thoughts ? The supreme 
gift of a boundless love overflowed his heart to his very lips. 
She was so near, and the spell of her loveliness so strong, that 
at times he felt that he must give it expression, but he ever 
restrained himself. His words might bring pain and consterna- 
tion to the peaceful face. She was alone with him, and there 
would be no escape should he speak now. No ; he had re- 
solved to wait till her heart awoke by its own impulses, and he 
would keep his purpose even through the witchery of that 
moonlight drive. “ How strangely isolated we are,” he thought, 
“ that such feeling as mine can fill my very soul with its im- 
mense desire, and she not be aware of anything but my quiet, 
fraternal manner ! ” 


464 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


As they were descending the home slope of the mountain 
they witnessed a rare and beautiful sight. A few light clouds 
had gathered around the moon, and these at last opened in a 
rift. The rays of light through the misty atmosphere created 
the perfect colors of a rainbow, and this phenomenon took the 
remarkable form of a shield, its base resting upon one cloud, 
and its point extending into a little opening in the cloud above. 

“ Oh, what a perfect shield ! ” cried Amy. “ Was there ever 
anything so strange and lovely?” 

Webb checked his horse, and they looked at the vision 
with wonder. “ I never saw anything to equal that,” said 
Webb. 

“Is it an omen, Webb?” she asked, turning a little from 
him that she might look upward, and leaning on his shoulder 
with the unconsciousness of a child. 

“ Let us make it one, dear sister Amy,” he said, drawing her 
nearer to him. “ Let it remind you, as you recall it, that as far 
as I can I will ever shield you from every evil of life.” As he 
spoke the rainbow colors became wonderfully distinct, and then 
faded slowly away. Her head drooped lower on his shoulder, 
and she said, dreamily : 

“ It seems to me that I never was so happy before in my life 
as I am now. You are so different, and can be so much to me, 
now that your old absurd constraint is gone. Oh, Webb, you 
used to make me so unhappy ! You made me feel that you 
had found me out — how little I knew, and that it was a bore 
to have to talk with me and explain, s. I know I’m not highly 
educated. How could I be ? I went everywhere with papa, 
and he always appeared to think of me as a little girl. And 
then during the last year or two of his life he was so ill that I 
did not do much else than watch over him with fear and trem- 
bling, and try to nurse him and beguile the hours that were so 
full of pain and weakness. But I’m not contented to be igno- 
rant, and you can teach me so much. I fairly thrill with excite- 
ment and feeling sometimes when you are reading a fine or 


THE MOONLIGHT OMEN . 465 

beautiful thing. If I can feel that way I can’t be stupid, 
can I? ” 

“ No, Amy.” 

“ Think how much faster I could learn this winter if you 
would direct my reading, and explain what is obscure ! ” 

“ I will very gladly do anything you wish. You underrate 
yourself, Amy. You have woman’s highest charm. There is 
a stupidity of heart which is far worse than that of the mind, a 
selfish callousness in regard to others and their rights and feel- 
ings, which mars the beauty of some women worse than physical 



“WOO WHOO t n 

deformity. From the day you entered our home as a stranger, 
graceful tact, sincerity, and the impulse of ministry have char- 
acterized your life. Can you imagine that mere cleverness, 
trained mental acuteness, and a knowledge of facts can take the 
place of these traits? No man can love unless he imagines that 
a woman has these qualities, and bitter will be his disappoint- 
ment if he finds them wanting.” 

Her laugh rang out musically on the still air. “ Hear the old 
bachelor talk ! ” she cried. “ I believe you have constructed 
an ideally perfect creature out of nature, and that you hold 
trysts with her on moonlight nights, you go out to walk so often 



4 66 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


alone. Well, well, I won’t be jealous of such a sister-in-law, 
but I want to keep you a little while longer before you follow 
Burt’s example.” 

“ I shall never give you a sister-in-law, Amy.” 

“ You don’t know what you’ll do. How sure Burt was of 
himself!” 

“ Burt and I are different.” 

“ Yes, Webb, you are. If you ever love, it will be for always ; 
and I don’t like to think of it. I’d like to keep you just as you 
are. Now that you see how selfish I am, where is woman’s 
highest charm ? ” 

Webb laughed, and urged his horse into a sharp trot. “ I am 
unchangeable in my opinions too, as far as you are concerned,” 
he remarked. “ She is not ready yet,” was his silent thought. 

When she came down to the late supper her eyes were shin- 
ing with happiness, and Maggie thought the decisive hour had 
come ; but in answer to a question about the drive, Amy said, 
“ I couldn’t have believed that so much enjoyment was to be 
had in one afternoon. Webb is a brother worth having, and 
I’m sorry I’m going to New York.” 

“Am I not a brother worth having?” Leonard asked. 

“ Oh, you are excellent, as far as you go, but you are so 
wrapped up in Maggie that you are not of much account ; and 
as for Burt, he is more over head and ears than you are. Even 
if a woman was in love, I should think she would like a man to 
be sensible.” 

“ Pshaw, Amy ! you don’t know what you are talking about,” 
said Maggie. 

“ Probably not. I suppose it is a kind of disease, and that 
all are more or less out of their heads.” 

“We’ve been out of our heads a good many years, mother, 
haven’t we ? ” said Mr. Clifford, laughing. 

“ Well,” said Leonard, “I just hope Amy will catch the dis- 
ease, and have it very bad some day.” 

“ Thank you. When I do, I’ll send for Dr. Marvin.” 


THE MOONLIGHT OMEN. 


4 67 


A few days later Webb took her to New York, and left her 
with her friend. “ Don’t be persuaded into staying very long,” 
he found opportunity to say, in a low tone. 

“ Indeed I won’t ; I’m homesick already ; ” and she looked 
after him very wistfully. But she was mistaken. Gertrude 
looked so hurt and disappointed when she spoke of returning, 
and had planned so much, that days lengthened into weeks. 


468 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


CHAPTER LIX. 

THE ROSE REVEALS ITS HEART. 

EBB returned to a region that was haunted. Wherever 



VV he went, a presence was there before him. In every 
room, on the lawn, in the garden, in lanes no longer shaded, 
but carpeted with brown, rustling leaves, on mountain roads, 
he saw Amy with almost the vividness of actual vision, as he 
had seen her in these places from the time of her first coming. 
At church he created her form in her accustomed seat, and his 
worship was a little confused. She had asked him to write, and 
he made home life and the varying aspects of nature real to her. 
His letters, however, were so impersonal that she could read 
the greater part of them to Gertrude, who had resolved to be 
pleased out of good-will to Webb, and with the intention of 
aiding his cause. But she soon found herself expressing genu- 
ine wonder and delight at their simple, vigorous diction, their 
subtile humor, and the fine poetic images they often suggested. 
“ Oh, Amy,” she said, “ I couldn’t have believed it. I don’t 
think he himself is aware of his power of expression.” 

“ He has read and observed so much,” Amy replied/" that 
he has much to express.” 

“ It’s more than that,” said Gertrude ; “ there are touches 
here and there which mere knowledge can’t account for. 
They have a delicacy and beauty which seem the result of wo- 
man’s influence, and I believe it is yours. I should think you 
would be proud of him.” 

“ I am,” she answered, with exultation and heightened color, 


THE ROSE REVEALS ITS HEART. 469 


“ but it seems absurd to suppose that such a little ignoramus as 
I am can help him much.” 

Meanwhile, to all appearance, Webb maintained the even 
tenor of his way. He had been so long schooled in patience 
that he waited and hoped on in silence as before, and busied 
himself incessantly. The last of the corn was husked, and the 
golden treasure stored. The stalks were stacked near the barn 
for winter use, and all the labors of the year were rounded out 
and completed. Twice he went to the city to see Amy, and on 
one of these occasions he was a guest at a large party given in 
her honor. During much of the evening he was dazzled by her 
beauty, and dazed by her surroundings. Her father had had 
her instructed carefully in dancing, and she and Burt had often 
waltzed together, but he could scarcely believe his eyes as she 
appeared on the floor unsurpassed in beauty and grace, her 
favor sought by all. Was that the simple girl who on the shaggy 
sides of Storm King had leaned against his shoulder ? 

Miss Hargrove gave him little time for such musings. She, 
as hostess, often took his arm and made him useful. The 
ladies found him reserved rather than shy, but he was not long 
among the more mature and thoughtful men present before a 
knot gathered around him, and some of Mr. Hargrove’s more 
intimate friends ventured to say, “ There seems to be plenty of 
brains in the family into which your daughter is to enter.” 

After an hour or two had passed, and Amy had not had a 
chance to speak to him, he began to look so disconsolate that 
she came and whispered, “ What’s the matter, old fellow ? ” 

“ Oh, Amy,” he replied, discontentedly, “ I wish we were 
back on Storm King. I’m out of place here.” 

“ So do I,” she said, “ and so we will be many a time again. 
But you are not out of place here. I heard one lady remark- 
ing how ‘ reserved and distingue ’ you were, and another,” she 
added, with a flash of her ever-ready mirthfulness, “ said you 
were ‘ deliciously homely.’ I was just delighted with that com- 
pliment,” and she flitted away to join her partner in the dance. 


470 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Webb brightened up amazingly after this, and before he de- 
parted in the “wee sma’ hours,” when the rooms were empty, 
Gertrude gave him a chance for a brief, quiet talk, which 
proved that Amy’s heart was still in the Highlands, even if he 
did not yet possess it. 

Burt would not return till late in December ; but Amy came 
home about the middle of the month, and received an ova- 
tion that was enough “ to turn any one’s head,” she declared. 
Their old quiet life was resumed, and Webb watched keenly for 
any discontent with it. Her tranquil satisfaction was undoubted. 
“ I’ve had my little fling,” she said, “and I suppose it was time 
I saw more of the world and society, but oh, what a refuge and 
haven of rest the old place is ! Gertrude is lovely, her father 
very gallant and polite, but Mrs. Hargrove’s stateliness op- 
presses me, and in society I felt that I had to take a grain of 
salt with everything said to me. Gertrude showed her sense in 
preferring a home. I was in some suoerb houses in the city 
that did not seem like homes.” 

Webb, in his solicitude that the country-house should not 
appear dull, found time to go out with her on pleasant days, 
and to interest her deeply in a course of reading. It was a sea- 
son of leisure ; but his mother began to smile to herself as she 
saw how absorbed he was in his pupil. 

The nights grew colder, the stars gained a frosty glitter, the 
ground was rock-like, and the ponds were covered with a glare 
of black ice. Amy was eager to learn to skate, and Webb 
found his duty of instructor delightful. Little danger of her 
falling, although, with a beginner’s awkwardness, she essayed to 
do so often ; strong arms were ever near and ready, and any 
one would have been glad to catch Amy in such peril. 

They were now looking forward to Burt’s return and the holi- 
day season, which Gertrude would spend with them. Mystery 
lurked behind every door. Not merely the shops, but busy and 
stealthy fingers, would furnish the gifts. Webb had bought his 
present for Amy, but had also burned the midnight oil in the 


THE ROSE REVEALS ITS HEART 


471 


preparation of another — a paper for a magazine, and it had 
been accepted. He had planned and composed it while at 
work stripping the husks from the yellow corn, superintending 
the wood teams and the choppers in the mountain, and aiding 
in cutting from an adjacent pond the crystal blocks of ice — 
the stored coolness for the coming summer. Then while others 
thought him sleeping he wrote and rewrote the thoughts he had 
harvested during the day. 

One of his most delightful tasks, however, was in aiding Amy 
to embower the old house in wreaths and festoons of evergreens. 
The rooms grew into aromatic bowers. Autumn leaves and 
ferns gave to the heavier decorations a light, airy beauty which 
he had never seen before. Grace itself Amy appeared as she 
mounted the step-ladder and reached here and there, twining 
and coaxing everything into harmony. 

What was the effect of all this companionship on her mind ? 
She least of all could have answered : she did not analyze. 
Each day was full and joyous. She was being carried forward 
on a shining tide of happiness, and yet its motion was so 
even, quiet, and strong that there was nothing to disturb her 
maidenly serenity. If Webb had been any one but Webb, and 
if she had been in the habit of regarding all men as possible 
admirers, she would have understood herself long before this. 
If she had been brought up with brothers in her own home she 
would have known that she welcomed this quiet brother with a 
gladness that had a deeper root than sisterly affection. But the 
fact that he was Webb, the quiet, self- controlled man who had 
called her sister Amy for a year, made his presence, his deep 
sympathy with her and for her, seem natural. His approaches 
had been so gradual that he was stealing into her heart as spring 
enters a flower. You can never name the first hour of its pres- 
ence ; you take no note of the imperceptible yet steady devel- 
opment. The process is quiet, yet vital and sure, and at last 
there comes an hour when the bud is ready to open. That 
time was near, and Webb hoped that it was. His tones were 


472 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


now and then so tender and gentle that she looked at him a 
little wonderingly, but his manner was quiet and far removed 
from that of the impetuous Burt. There was a warmth in it, 
however, like the increasing power of the sun, and in human 
hearts bleak December can be the spring-time as truly as May. 

It was the twenty-third — one of the stormiest days of a 
stormy month. The snow-flakes were whirling without, and 
making many a circle in the gale before joining their innumera- 
ble comrades that whitened the ground. The wind sighed and 
soughed about the old house as it had done a year before, but 
Webb and Amy were armed against its mournfulness. They 
were in the parlor, on whose wide hearth glowed an ample fire. 
Burt and Gertrude were expected on the evening train. 

“ Gertie is coming home through the snow just as I did,” 
said Amy, fastening a spray of mistletoe that a friend had sent 
her from England to the chandelier ; “ and the same old warm 
welcome awaits her.” 

“ What a marvellous year it has been ! ” Webb remarked. 

“ It has, indeed. Just think of it ! Burt is engaged to one 
of whose existence he did not know a year ago. He has been 
out West, and found that you have land that will make you all 
rich.” 

“Are these the greatest marvels of the year, Amy?” 

“ No, there is a greater one. I didn’t know you a year ago 
to-day, and now I seem to have known you always, you great 
patient, homely old fellow — ‘ deliciously homely.’ I shall never 
get over that.” 

“The eyes of scores of young fellows looked at you that 
evening as if you were deliciously handsome.” 

“ And you looked at me one time as if you hadn’t a friend 
in the world, and you wanted to be back in your native wilds.” 

“ Not without you, Amy ; and you said you wished you were 
looking at the rainbow shield with me again.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t say alUhat ; and then I saw you needed heart- 
ening up a little.” 


THE ROSE REVEALS ITS HEART 473 

“I did indeed. You were dancing with a terrible swell, 
worth, it was said, half a million, who was devouring you with 
his eyes.” 

“ I’m all here, thank you, and you look as if you were doing 
some devouring yourself. What makes you look at me so ? Is 
there anything on my face ? ” 

“ Yes, some color, but it’s just as Nature arranged it, and you 
know Nature’s best work always fascinates me.” 

“ What a gallant you are becoming ! There, don’t you think 
that is arranged well?” and she stood beneath the mistletoe 
looking up critically at it. 

“Let me' see if it is,” and he advanced to her side. “This 
is the only test,” he said, and quick as a flash he encircled her 
with his arm and pressed a kiss upon her lips. 

She sprang aloof and looked at him with dilating eyes. He 
had often kissed her before, and she had thought nothing more 
of it than of a brother’s salute. Was it a subtile, mysterious 
power in the mistletoe itself with which it had been endowed 
by ages of superstition? Was that kiss like the final ray of the 
June sun that opens the heart of the rose when at last it is 
ready to expand ? She looked at him wonderingly, tremblingly, 
the color of the rose mounting higher and higher, and deepen- 
ing as if the blood were coming from the depths of her heart. 
He did not speak. In answer to her wondering, questioning 
look, he only bent full upon her his dark eyes that had held hers 
once before in a moment of terror. She saw his secret in their 
depths at last, the devotion, the love, which she herself had 
unsuspectingly said would “ last always.” She took a faltering 
step towards him, then covered her burning face with her 
hands. 

“ Amy,” he said, taking her gently in his arms, “ do you un- 
derstand me now? Dear, blind little girl, I have been worship- 
ping all these months, and you have not known it.” 

“I — I thought you were in love with nature,” she whispered. 

“So I am, and you are nature in its sweetest and highest 


474 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


embodiment. Every beautiful thing in nature has long sug* 
gested you to me. Amy, I can wait. You shall have your girl- 
hood. It seems to me now that I have loved you almost from 
the first hour I saw you. I have known that I loved you ever 
since that June evening when you left me in the rose garden. 
Have I not proved that I can be patient and wait?” 

She only pressed her burning face closer upon his shoulder. 
“ It’s all growing clear now,” she again whispered. “ How 
blind I’ve been ! I thought you were only my brother.” 

“I can be ‘only your brother,’ if you so wish,” he said, 
gravely. “ Your happiness is my first thought.” 

She looked up at him shyly, tears in her eyes, and a smile 
hovering about her tremulous lips. “ I don’t think I understood 
myself any better than I did you. I never had a brother, and 
— and — I don’t believe I love you just right for a brother ; ” 
and her face was hidden again. 

His eyes went up to heaven, as if he meant that his mating 
should be recognized there. Then gently stroking her brown 
hair, he asked, “Then I sha’n’t have to wait, Amy?” 

“Am I keeping you waiting, Webb?” she faltered from her 
deep seclusion. 

“ Oh, that blessed mistletoe ! ” cried Webb, lifting the dewy, 
flower-like face and kissing it again and again. “ You are my 
Christmas gift, Amy.” 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon ; I didn’t know,” began Mr. Clif- 
ford from the doorway, and was about to make a hasty and 
excited retreat. 

“ Stay, father ! ” cried Webb. “A year ago you received this 
dear girl as your daughter. She has consented to make the tie 
closer still if possible.” 

The old gentleman took Amy in his arms for a moment, and 
then said, “ This is too good to keep to myself for a moment,” 
and he hastened the blushing, laughing girl to his wife, and 
exclaimed, “ See what I’ve brought you for a Christmas present. 
See what that sly, silent Webb has been up to. He has been 


THE ROSE REVEALS ITS HEART \ 475 

making love to our Amy right under our noses, and we didn’t 
know it.” 

“ You didn’t know it, father ; mother’s eyes are not so blind. 
Amy, darling, I’ve been hoping and praying for this. You have 
made a good choice, my dear, if it is his mother that says it. 
Webb will never change, and he will always be as gentle and 
good to you as he has been to me.” 

“Well, well, well,” said Mr. Clifford, “our cup is running 
over, sure enough. Maggie, come here,” he called, as he heard 
her step in the hall. “ Here is a new relative. I once felt a 
little like grumbling because we hadn’t a daughter, and now I 
have three, and the best and prettiest in the land. You didn’t 
know what Webb was about.” 

“Didn’t I, Webb — as long ago as last October, too?” 

“Oh, Webb, you ought to have told me first,” said Amy, 
reproachfully, when they were alone. 

“ I did not tell Maggie ; she saw,” Webb answered. Then, 
taking a rosebud which she had been wearing, he pushed open 
the petals with his finger, and asked, “ who told me that ‘ this 
is no way for a flower to bloom ’ ? I’ve watched and waited till 
your heart was ready, Amy.” And so the time flew in mutual 
confidences, and the past grew clear when illumined by love. 

“ Poor old Webb ! ” said Amy, with a mingled sigh and 
laugh. “ There you were growing as gaunt as a scarecrow, and 
I loving you all the time. What a little goose I was ! If you 
had looked at Gertrude as Burt did'I should have found myself 
out long ago. Why hadn’t you the sense to employ Burt’s 
tactics? ” 

“ Because I had resolved that nature should be my sole ally. 
Was not my kiss under the mistletoe a better way of awakening 
my sleeping beauty than a stab of jealousy?” 

“ Yes, Webb, dear, patient Webb. The rainbow shield was a 
true omen, and I am sheltered indeed,” 


476 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


CHAPTER LX. 


CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 


EONARD had long since gone to the depot, and now the 



L, chimes of his returning bells announced that Burt and 
Gertrude were near. To them both it was in truth a coming 
home. Gertrude rushed in, followed by the exultant Burt, her 
brilliant eyes and tropical beauty rendered tenfold more effec- 
tive by the wintry twilight without ; and she received a welcome 
that accorded with her nature. She was hardly in Amy’s room, 
which she was to share, before she looked in eager scrutiny at 
her friend. “ What’s in the air?” she asked. “What has 
transfigured Webb? Oh, you little wild-flower, you’ve found 
out that he is saying his prayers to you at last, have you? 
Evidently he hasn’t said them in vain. You are very happy, 
dear? ” 

“ Yes, happier than you are.” 

“ I deny that point-blank. Oh, Amy darling, I was true to 
you and didn’t lose Burt either.” 

Maggie had provided a feast, and Leonard beamed on the 
table and on every one, when something in Webb and Amy’s 
manner caught his attention. “ This occasion,” he began, 
“ reminds me of a somewhat similar one a year ago to-morrow 
night. It is my good fortune to bring lovely women into this 
household. My first and best effort was made when I brought 
Maggie. Then I picked up a little girl at the depot, and she 
grew into a tall, lovely creature on the way home, didn’t she, 
Johnnie ? And now to-night I’ve brought in a princess from 



CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 477 

the snow, and one of these days poor Webb will be captured 
by a female of the MacStinger type, for he will never muster up 
courage enough — What on earth are you all laughing about ? ” 
“ Thank you,” said Amy, looking like a peony. 

“You had better put your head under Maggie’s wing and 


WINTER TWILIGHT. 

subside,” Webb added. Then, putting his arm about Amy, he 
asked, “ Is this a female of the MacStinger type?” 

Leonard stared in blank amazement. “Well,” said he, at 
last, * when did this happen ? I give up now. The times have 
changed. When I was courting, the whole neighborhood was 


478 NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 

talking about it, and knew I was accepted long before I did. 
Did you see all this going on, Maggie? ” 

“ Certainly,” she answered. 

“ Now, I don’t believe Amy saw it herself,” cried Leonard, 
half desperately, and laughter broke out anew. 

“ Oh, Amy, I’m so glad ! ” said Burt, and he gave her the 
counterpart of the embrace that had turned the bright October 
evening black to Webb. 

“To think that Webb should have got such a prize ! ” ejacu- 
lated Leonard. “ Well, well, the boys in this family are in 
luck.” 

“ It will be my turn next,” cried Johnnie. 

“ No, sir ; I’m the oldest,” Alf protested. 

“Let’s have supper,” Ned remarked, removing his thumb 
from his mouth. 

“Score one for Ned,” said Burt. “There is at least one 
member of the family whose head is not turned by all these 
marvellous events.” 

Can the sunshine and fragrance of a June day be photo- 
graphed? No more can the light and gladness of that long, 
happy evening be portrayed. Mrs. Clifford held Gertrude’s 
hand as she had Amy’s when receiving her as a daughter. The 
beautiful girl, whose unmistakable metropolitan air was blended 
with gentle womanly grace, had a strong fascination for the 
invalid. She kindled the imagination of the recluse, and gave 
her a glimpse into a world she had never known. 

“Webb,” said Amy, as they were parting for the night, “I 
can see a sad, pale orphan girl clad in mourning. I can see 
you kissing her for the first time. Don’t you remember? I 
had a strange little thrill at heart then, and you said, ‘ Come to 
me, Amy, when you are in trouble.’ There is one thing that 
troubles me to-night. All whom I so dearly love know of my 
happiness but papa. I wish he knew.” 

“ Tell it to him, Amy,” he answered, gently, “ and tell it to 
God.” 


CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 479 


There were bustle and renewed mystery on the following day. 
Astonishing-looking packages were smuggled from one room to 
another. Ned created a succession of panics, and at last the 
ubiquitous and garrulous little urchin had to be tied into a 
chair. Johnnie and Alf were in the seventh heaven of antici- 
pation, and when Webb brought Amy a check for fifty dollars, 
and told her that it was the proceeds of his first crop from his 
brains, and that she must spend the money, she went into Mr. 
Clifford’s room waving it as if it were a trophy such as no knight 
had ever brought to his lady-love. 

“ Of course, I’ll spend it,” she cried. “ I know just how to 
spend it. It shall go into books that we can read together. 
What’s that agricultural jargon of yours, Webb, about returning 
as much as possible to the soil? We’ll return this to the soil,” 
she said, kissing his forehead, “ although I think it is too rich 
for me already.” 

In the afternoon she and Webb, with a sleigh well laden, 
drove into the mountains on a visit to Lumley. He had re- 
paired the rough, rocky lane leading through the wood to what 
was no longer a wretched hovel. The inmates had been ex- 
pecting this visit, and Lumley rushed bareheaded out-of-doors 
the moment he heard the bells. Although he had swept a path 
from his door again and again, the high wind would almost 
instantly drift in the snow. Poor Lumley had never heard of 
Sir Walter Raleigh or Queen Elizabeth, but he had given his 
homage to a better queen, and with loyal impulse he instantly 
threw off his coat, and laid it on the snow, that Amy might 
walk dry-shod into the single room that formed his home. She 
and Webb smiled significantly at each other, and then the 
young girl put her hand into that of the mountaineer as he 
helped her from the sleigh, and said “ Merry Christmas ! ” with 
a smile that brought tears into the eyes of the grateful man. 

“Yer making no empty wish, Miss Amy. I never thought 
sich a Christmas ’ud ever come to me or mine. But come in, 
come in out of the cold wind, an’ see how you’ve changed 


480 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


everything. Go in with her, Mr. Webb, an’ I’ll tie an’ blanket 
your hoss. Lord, to think that sich a May blossom ’ud go 
into my hut ! ” 

They entered, and Mrs. Lumley, neatly clad in some dark 
woollen material, made a queer, old-fashioned courtesy that her 
husband had had her practice for the occasion. But the baby, 
now grown into a plump, healthy child, greeted her benefactress 
with nature’s own grace, crowing, laughing, and calling, “ Pitty 
lady ; nice lady,” with exuberant welcome. The inmates did 
not now depend for precarious warmth upon two logs, reaching 
across a dirty floor and pushed together, but a neat box, painted 
green, was filled with billets of wood. The carpeted floor was 
scrupulously clean, and so was the bright new furniture. A few 
evergreen wreaths hung on the walls with the pictures that 
Amy had given, and on the mantel was her photograph — poor 
Lumley’s patron saint. 

Webb brought in his armful of gifts, and Amy took the child 
on her lap and opened a volume of dear old “ Mother Goose,” 
profusely illustrated in colored prints — that classic that appeals 
alike to the hearts of children, whether in mountain hovels or 
city palaces. The man looked on as if dazed. “ Mr. Webb,” 
he said, in his loud whisper, “ I once saw a picter of the Virgin 
and child. Oh, golly, how she favors it ! ” 

“ Mrs. Lumley,” Amy began, “ I think your housekeeping 
does you much credit. I’ve not seen a neater room any- 
where.” 

“Well, mum, my ole man’s turned over a new leaf sure nuff. 
There’s no livin’ with him unless everythink is jes so, an’ I guess 
it’s better so, too. Ef I let things git slack, he gits mighty 
savage.” 

“You must try to be patient, Mr. Lumley. You’ve made 
great changes for the better, but you must remember that old 
ways can’t be broken up in a moment.” 

“ Lor’ bless yer, Miss Amy, there’s nothink like breakin’ off 
short, there’s no think like turnin’ the corner sharp, and fightin’ 


CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 48 1 


the devil tooth and nail. It’s an awful tussle at first, an’ I 
thought I was goin’ to knuckle under more’n once. So I would 
ef it hadn’t ’a ben fer you, but you give me this little han’, 
Miss Amy, an’ looked at me as if I wa’n’t a beast, an’ it’s ben 
a liftin’ me up ever sence. Oh, I’ve had good folks talk at me 
an’ lecter, an’ I’ve ben in jail, but it all on’y made me mad. 
The best on ’em wouldn’t ’a teched me no more than they 
would a rattler, sich as we killed on the mountain. But you 
guv me yer han’, Miss Amy, an’ thar’s mine on it agin ; I’m 
goin’ to be a man.” 

She took the great horny palm in both her hands. “ You 
make me very happy,” she said, simply, looking at him above 
the head of his child, “ and I’m sure your wife is going to help 
you. I shall enjoy the holidays far more for this visit. You’ve 
told us good news, and we’ve got good news for you and your 
wife. Tell him, Webb.” 

“ Yes, Lumley,” said Webb, clapping the man on the shoulder, 
“ famous news. This little girl has been helping me just as 
much as she has you, and she has promised to help me through 
life. One of these days we shall have a home of our own, and 
you shall have a cottage near it, and the little girl here that 
you’ve named Amy shall go to school and have a better chance 
than you and your wife have had.” 

“ Oh, goshwalader ! ” exclaimed the man, almost breaking 
out into a hornpipe. “ The Lord on’y knows what will happen 
ef things once git a goin’ right ! Mr. Webb, thar’s my han’ 
agin’. Ef yer’d gone ter heaven fer her, yer couldn’t ’a got 
sich a gell. Well, well, give me a chance on yer place, an’ I’ll 
work fer yer all the time, even nights an’ Sundays.” 

It was hard for them to get away. The child dropped her 
books and toys, and clung to Amy. “She knows yer; she 
knows all about yer,” said the delighted father. “Well, ef yer 
must go, yer’ll take suthin’ with us ; ” and from a great pitcher 
of milk he filled several goblets, and they all drank to the health 
of little Amy. “ Yer’ll fin’ half-dozen pa’triges under the seat, 


482 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORK 


Miss Amy,” he said, as they drove away. “ I was bound I’d 
have some kind of a present fer yer.” 

She waved her hand back to him, and saw him standing 
bareheaded in the cutting wind, looking after her. 

“ Poor old Lumley was right,” said Webb, drawing her to 
him ; “ I do feel as if I had received my little girl from heaven. 
We will give those people a chance, and try to turn the law of 
heredity in the right direction.” 

In the twilight of that evening, Mr. Alvord sat over his lonely 
hearth, his face buried in his hands. The day had been terribly 
long and torturing ; memory had presented, like mocking spec- 
tres, his past and what it might have been. A sense of loneli- 
ness, a horror of great darkness, overwhelmed him. Nature 
had grown cold and forbidding, and was losing its power to 
solace. Johnnie, absorbed in her Christmas preparations, had 
not been to see him for a long time. He had gone to inquire 
after her on the previous evening, and through the lighted win- 
dows of the Clifford home had seen a picture that had made 
his own abode appear desolate indeed. In despairing bitter- 
ness he had turned away, feeling that that happy home was no 
more a place for him than was heaven. He had wandered out 
into the storm for hours, like a lost spirit, and at last had re- 
turned and slept in utter exhaustion. On the morning preceding 
Christmas memory awoke with him, and as night approached 
he was sinking into sullen, dreary apathy. 

There was a light tap at the door, but he did not hear it. A 
child’s face peered in at his window, and Johnnie saw him 
cowering over his dying fire. She had grown accustomed to 
his moods, and had learned to be fearless, for she had banished 
his evil spells before. Therefore she entered softly, laid down 
her bundles, and stood beside him. 

“ Mr. Alvord ! ” she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. 
He started up; and at the same moment a flickering blaze rose 
on the hearth, and revealed the sunny-haired child standing 
beside him. If an angel had come, the effect could not have 


CH RIS TM A S LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 4S3 


been greater. Like all who are morbid, he was largely under 
the dominion of imagination ; and Johnnie, with her fearless, 
gentle, commiserating eyes, had for him the potency of a super- 
natural visitor. But the healthful, unconscious child had a 
better power. Her words and touch brought saneness as well 
as hope. 

“Why, Mr. Alvord,” she cried, “were you asleep? See! 
your fire is going out, and your lamp is not lighted, and there 
is nothing ready for your supper. What a queer man you are, 
for .one who is so kind ! Mamma said I might come and spend 
a little of Christmas-eve with you, and bring my gifts, and then 
that you would bring me home. I know how to fix up your fire 
and light your lamp. Then we’ll get supper together. Won’t 
that be fun ? ” and she bustled around, the embodiment of 
beautiful life. 

“ Oh, Johnnie ! ” he said, taking her sweet face in his hands, 
and looking into her clear eyes, “ Heaven must have sent you. 
I was so lonely and sad that I wished I had never lived.” 

“ Why, Mr. Alvord ! and on Christmas-eve, too ? See what 
I’ve brought you,” and she opened a book with the angels’ 
song of “ peace and good-will ” illustrated. “ Mamma says 
that whoever believes that ought to be happy,” said the child. 
“Don’t you believe it?” 

“ Yes, it’s true for those who are like you and your mother.” 

She leaned against him, and looked over his shoulder at the 
pictures. “ Mr. Alvord, mamma said the song was for you, too. 
Of course, mamma’s right. What else did He come for but to 
help people who are in trouble? I read stories about Him 
every Sunday to mamma, and He was always helping people 
who were in trouble, and who had done wrong. That’s why we 
are always glad on Christmas. You look at the book while I 
set your table.” 

He did look at it till his eyes were blinded with tears, and 
like a sweet refrain came the words, “ A little child shall lead 
them.” 


484 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


Half an hour later Leonard, with a kindly impulse, thought 
he would go to take by the hand Johnnie’s strange friend, and 
see how the little girl was getting on. The scene within, as he 
passed the window, checked his steps. Johnnie sat at the foot 
of Mr. Alvord’s table, pouring tea for him, chattering meanwhile 
with a child’s freedom, and the hermit was looking at her with 
such a smile on his haggard face as Leonard had never seen 
there. He walked quietly home, deferring his call till the 
morrow, feeling that Johnnie’s spell must not be broken. 

An hour later Mr. Alvord put Johnnie down at her home, for 
he had insisted on carrying her through the snow, and for the 
first time kissed her, as he said, 

“ Good-by. You, to-night, have been like one of the angels 
that brought the tidings of 1 peace and good-will. ’ ” 

“ I’m sorry for him, mamma ! ” said the little girl, after tell- 
ing her story, “ for he’s very lonely, and he’s such a queer, nice 
man. Isn’t it funny that he should be so old, and yet not know 
why we keep Christmas ? ” 

Amy sang again the Christmas hymn that her own father and 
the father who had adopted her had loved so many years before. 
“ My daughter,” said Mr. Clifford, as he was fondly bidding her 
good-night, “ how sweetly you have fulfilled the hopes you 
raised one year ago ! ” 

Mrs. Clifford had gone to her room, leaning on the arm of 
Gertrude. As the invalid kissed her in parting, she said : 

“You have beautiful eyes, my dear, and they have seen far 
more of the world than mine, but, thank God, they are clear 
and true. Keep them so, my child, that I may welcome you 
again to a better home than this.” 

Once more “ the old house stood silent and dark in the pallid 
landscape.” The winds were hushed, as if the peace within 
had been breathed into the very heart of Nature, and she, too, 
could rest in her wintry sleep. The moon was obscured by a 
veil of clouds, and the outlines of the trees were faint upon the 
snow. A shadowy form drew near ; a man paused, and looked 


CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 485 

upon the dwelling. “ If the angels’ song could be heard any- 
where to-night, it should be over that home,” Mr. Alvord mur- 
mured ; but, even to his morbid fancy, the deep silence of the 
night remained unbroken. He returned to his home, and sat 
down in the firelight. A golden-haired child again leaned upon 
his shoulder, and asked, “ What else did He come for but to 
help people who are in trouble, and who have done wrong?” 
He started up. Was it a voice deep in his own soul that was 
longing to escape from evil? or was it a harmony far away in 
the sky, that whispered of peace at last? That message from 
heaven is clearest where the need is greatest. 

Mr. Hargrove’s home was almost a palace, but its stately 
rooms were desolate on Christmas-eve. He wandered rest- 
lessly through their magnificence. He paid no heed to the 
costly furniture and costlier works of art. “Trurie was right,” 
he muttered. “ What power have these things to satisfy when 
the supreme need of the heart is unsatisfied ? It seems as if I 
could not sleep to-night without seeing her. There is no use in 
disguising the truth that I’m losing her. Even on Christmas- 
eve she is absent. It’s late, and since I cannot see her, I’ll see 
her gift ; ” and he went to her room, where she had told him 
to look for her remembrance. To his surprise, he found that, 
according to her secret instructions, it was lighted. He entered 
the dainty apartment, and saw the glow of autumn leaves and 
the airy grace of ferns around the pictures and windows. He 
started, for he almost saw herself, so true was the life-size and 
life-like portrait that smiled upon him. Beneath it were the 
words, “ Merry Christmas, papa ! You have not lost me ; you 
have only made me happy.” 

The moon is again rising over old Storm King ; the crystals 
that cover the white fields and meadows are beginning to flash 
in its rays ; the great pine by the Clifford home is sighing and 
moaning. What heavy secret has the old tree that it can sigh 
with such a group near as is now gathered beneath it ? Burt’s 


486 


NATURE'S SERIAL STORY. 


black horse rears high as he reins him in, that Gertrude may 
spring into the cutter, then speeds away like a shadow through 
the moonlight. Webb’s steed is strong and quiet, like himself, 
and as tireless. Amy steps to Webb’s side, feeling it to be her 
place in very truth. Sable Abram draws up next, with the great 
family sleigh, and in a moment Alf is perched beside him. 
Then Leonard half smothers Johnnie and Ned under the robes, 
and Maggie, about to pick her way through the snow, finds her- 
self taken up in strong arms, like one of the children, and is 
with them. The chime of bells dies away in the distance. 
Wedding-bells will be their echo. 

The merry Christmas-day has passed. Dr. and Mrs. Marvin, 
the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Barkdale, and other friends have come 
and gone with their greetings ; the old people are left alone 
beside their cheery fire. 

“ Here we are, mother, all by ourselves, just as we were once 
before on Christmas night, when you were as fair and blooming 
as Amy or Gertrude. Well, my dear, the long journey seems 
short to-night. I suppose the reason is that you have been 
such good company.” 

“Dear old father, the journey would have been long and 
weary indeed, had I not had your strong arm to lean upon, and 
a love that didn’t fade with my roses. There is only one short 
journey before us now, father, and then we shall know fully the 
meaning of the ‘ good tidings of great joy ’ forever.” 



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A SHORT HISTORY OF ART. Octavo, with 
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JOHN FRANKLIN AND THE NORTHWEST 
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SAUSSURE AND THE ALPS. By Douglas W. 
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MUNGO PARK AND THE NIGER. By Joseph 
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THE HIMALAYA. By Lieut.-General R. 
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VASCO DA GAMA AND THE OCEAN HIGH- 
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Mar. 15th. Without a Home. 
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" 1^1 


'M'iiiiiiiliiiiliii. 


For Bilious and Nervous Disorders, 


The Spirit of Health, 

and my message is to the Wise; 

I crown, yrith a fadeless wreath, 
those who obey my laws and avail 
themselves of my counsels. The 
flowers that l give do' hot; wither, 
and the fragrance of my roses is 
perpetual. 1 bring bloom to the 
cheek — strength to the body— joy 
to the heart.; The, talisman with 
^which I work, .never ’fails. Vast 
numbers have felt its 
power, and testified to 
its virtues. It is 

BEEGHAM’S PILLS, 

The World’s Medicine 1 

A perfect remedy for disorders of the 
liver, stomach, arid digestive organs, 
accompanied by nervous debility. 

If you are in any degree a sufferer, let the 
Spirit of Health inspire you to try 

BEECHAM’S PILLS. 

THEY AK$ 

WORTH A GUINEA A BOX. 

Cure Sick-Headache, Constipation, 
Weak Stomach. Impaired Digestion, 
DisorderedLiver. 

, B. F. ALLEN & CO., Sole Agents for U. S., 365 Canal St. 
Sold by all Druggists, or mailed by them on receipt of 25 cents. 
MENTION ROE’S NOVELS. 


Prepared only by THOS. BEECHA1, St. Helens, Lancashire, England 



SOAPS & 


PERFUME 


To Americans it is a strange sight to see a large field planted wj 
rose bushes, .in long, straight rows, "Very much hs oorn is cultivatedj 
this country. 

Yet there are hundreds of fields in Southern France, iike the < 
shown in the above picture, which bear no less than 180,000 lbs, oi 
tons of roses each year, for Colgate & Co. 

As the perfume of a flower is more fragrant in the early morni 
great care is exercised to secure the roses from only those farmers v 
gather their flowers early in the morning, before the dew has dried fr 
the leaves, and the hot sun drawn off the perfume. 

It is this attention to the minutest detail in obtaining only j 
choicest kind of perfume, and the best of materials, which has secured! 
Colgate & Co. the highest awards at World Expositions, and gives , 
rivalled superiority to their Soaps and Perfumes, the favorite of wK 


CASHMERE BOUQUET. 

















